Bleeding Strands of Fate
by iamphantomgirl
Summary: Seq. Beyond Winter Garden: Raoul's story: Christine dies, leaving Raoul and Erik to fight over Lotte. Can the two men reach a compromise, or will Raoul have to give up his daughter forever?
1. Heiress

Disclaimer: I do not own this character (but if I did, it really wouldn't be so bad)

**Raoul**

At best, Erik treated me like an annoyance. At worst, I was not a man, but a boy. Though it delighted me to know that I could aggravate him, part of me desperately wanted his approval in a way I didn't understand. I knew he could hate me at times, but after seeing him stripped defenseless twice now, I didn't hate him. Christine was dead, and there was no point in trying to inure myself to the new life I had found myself in. All I wanted was my daughter...and she was the one thing I could never have again.

I would not admit it to anyone, but seeing Erik beaten had been the best thing that had happened to me. While he was distracted by his obvious feelings for his new nursemaid, I was able to make up the month I had lost...and truly it felt like a lifetime, because I realized I had never spent time with Charlotte the way she needed. Before it had all been to please Christine, and I barely had time for myself when I was not meeting the demands of a self indulgent wife. I loved her still...I always would...but she had cured me of ever marrying again.

If it hadn't been for Eva, Charlotte would have never survived the coldness of our home. She brightened it for our daughter, and made it seem like the sun always shone, and the moon would never fail. My honor dictated that I never seem too interested in Eva, though I had always found her beautiful. I would never have broken my marriage vows, not that Eva had ever been interested in me that way. I never would have treated Christine in the manner that she treated me, though in truth I wasn't surprised. She had connected with Erik in a way I could not connect with her, and even though he had destroyed her idyllic fantasy, where reality was kept at bay so she could pursue unreachable dreams...she had loved him in her own misguided way. Just as he had loved her. Just as I loved her.

Now I had two of her children, though I could see one and love her fiercely, and barely look at the other without remembering how I had killed my wife. I still had not found the courage to hold my son longer than a moment or two. Charlotte seemed as disinterested in him as she would an ugly puppy, and I hoped that my theory of her needing a brother would prove fruitful. In all honesty, it was I who needed her, though I would use whatever force I needed to keep her near me. Erik's misfortune was to my gain, and I hoped he had a long recovery.

- -

We sat through almost half of the ballet before she began to fidget. Her legs began swinging, and she lost her focus on the painted dancers, then gave a little sigh.

"Are you tired, Lotte?" I asked softly.

"Very," she sighed, then yawned. "Are we going home soon?"

I nodded, "Right this second, if that is your wish."

"Then it is," she said, then hopped down from her seat. She frowned, then cast one final look at the scene from _Coppelia_. "Can I have a dress like that, Papa?"

I smiled. "You may."

"Are we going _home_? Or are we going back to your other house?" she demanded, striding purposefully out of the box.

"To my house here in Paris," I said softly. "Lotte...I'm not going to keep the house by the sea."

She spun around to look at me, a frozen expression on her face. In that moment she looked more like her father than her mother, a thought that I'd had a million times since her birth. "What do you mean?"

"I'm...I'm going to sell it, Lotte."

"No," she whispered, then turned her back. "You can't...you can't..."

"Lotte..."

"Charlotte!" she shouted, then took off at a run through the nearly empty theater.

I raced after her, forgetting her penchant for drama and trying to keep up. I recognized a few old _friends_, all of them stuffier and more boring than I ever thought of being, looking at me with disdain as I abandoned my manners and chased my screaming child. Rather, Erik's screaming child...

He would have been proud of her for the embarrassment she caused me, but I dutifully ignored the comments that _'my father would have been appalled'_. Of course my father would have been appalled. My entire family would have been, and the most shocking thing I had done was to marry a virtually unknown starlet from a scandal that rocked Paris for years. Even now the papers still published those grisly stories of my wife when they ran out of things to print. Less and less was mentioned of the actual events in the theater...they were content to make up their own accounts of what was surely a bizarre enough story without their ungovernable expansions.

I caught up with her at the doors, a split second before she darted through them.

"Charlotte," I gasped, eyeing her sternly. "That sort of decorum is not proper for this theater, nor is it proper behavior for you."

"I don't care!" She stamped her foot, then glared at me. "You can't sell the house! You can't!"

"Charlotte..."

How could I explain to her that I would never go back? That house held so many memories for me...memories of a life I had lost, and a love that I had tried to hold on to. For far too long. Christine had haunted me much longer than she had haunted Erik. I had loved her the moment we met, and through the years as children.

Now she was gone, and we had never fulfilled that grand madness...that grand passion that I had always hoped to achieve. We had been more friends than husband and wife, though she was by far the most demanding and jealous friend I had ever had. But I had loved her desperately...so desperately I had wanted to do anything she asked...

Even bear another child with her, against the advice of her doctors.

"Do you want the house?" I asked suddenly.

"Me?" she whispered, then her eyes lit up. "Do you mean it?"

I thought about Erik's reaction to the news, and I nodded sternly. "On one condition. You will not get the house until you come of age."

"What does that mean?" she asked, annoyed that I had put a price on her beloved home.

"That means you will not get it until you are grown," I said patiently. "Until you are...twenty one."

"Twenty one!" she huffed, "Why, I should turn that tomorrow!"

I chuckled, and shook my head. "No, Lotte. You have many years until you turn twenty one. But I will not sell the house. Not unless you permit me to do so."

I was spoiling her, and well I knew it.

It was thankful then that she had Eva. The only woman who could govern her tantrums, and control these outbursts. Erik had better please that woman any way he could. It would be a tragedy if she somehow were lost.


	2. Master of Deception

Raoul

**Attn:** Read Chapter 59 of Beyond the Winter Garden first. If you haven't been following that story, you won't understand this one. By the way, this one has a lower rating for the time being, but Beyond the WG is rated M for sexual content. I will see you all after the holidays, and have a good Christmas.

"There is a man to see you, Monsieur de Chagny," Simon informed me.

"Did he give his name?" I asked, not looking up from my desk.

"No, sir. He did not."

I glanced up at the thread of fear in my butler's voice. He was a man who was usually so stiff lipped that one would have never been able to discompose him for any reason, yet he stood before me with trepidation in his eyes.

"What does he want?"

"He wants to speak with you, Monsieur," he said, glancing backwards at the door nervously.

Just then the door swung open, and one of the largest men I had ever seen barreled through it. Simon normally might have protested such manners from one of my unannounced guests - I doubted there was very little anyone denied this man, because it looked as if he wrestled with bears for fun. He cracked his knuckles together, staring at me with hard eyes and a decidedly angry twist to his mouth.

"Where is she?" he demanded, flexing his shoulders beneath a black great-coat.

I stood, dropping the pen that I had been corresponding to a distant cousin with. "I beg your pardon?"

The man folded his arms across his massive chest, looking down at me with cold, silver eyes. "Eva Novelli. If you don't have her in front of me in the next minute, I'm going to take it out on your miserable hide."

I braced my hands across my desk and stared at him, my appearance calm, but my irritation rising. I didn't know who he was...for all I knew he could have been from Salpetriere, or looking for information about Eva's sister. Not bothering to look over to my already loaded pistols sitting on my desk, I smiled.

"You won't have such a pretty face when I get through with you, Vicomte," he snarled, looking suitably offended at my insolence. "Where is she?"

"Why don't you tell me who you are? I hate wasting ammunition on unidentified rifraff that barge into my home." I smiled wider. "I usually at least learn their name, and what business they have."

"Zachary Rougette, and I want to see her. Right now."

I regarded him for several moments, a feeling of unease sliding through me. Without asking I knew how they were acquainted. Christine had mentioned a Zachary once, and I had no idea what he had been doing the past five years. I didn't know if they had parted amicably, or if Eva had been running from him as well.

"What makes you think she's here?" I asked, sinking carefully back to my chair.

He didn't accept my offer to take a seat, and I stared at him, letting him know through my Chagny sneer that I thought he had the manners of a boar. "Certain things have come to my attention since the passing of her brother in law. One of them being the location of a woman I've been searching for." Zachary took a step closer and glared at me, though with his face he really didn't need to. I wondered how Eva could have ever kissed that face. It was one only a mother could love, though he looked as if his battered countenance was by choice, rather than birth.

"I'm afraid Madame Novelli left my employ at the time when my wife died," I said quietly. "That was well over a month ago."

"You lying little bastard," he snapped, then kicked my desk with a heavy boot.

I rose at that, unable to tolerate his ill manners a moment longer. "She's gone. You may search my house if it pleases you, but above all I want you out of here. Even if I were informed of her whereabouts, I wouldn't tell you. She's been through quite enough."

He snorted, then turned away, raking a hand through his black hair. "You have no idea where she is? That bastard Victor..."

"If she should return, you may leave your address..."

Zachary waved his hand, scowling at me over his shoulder. "She knows where I live. If I find out you've lied to me, I swear I will strangle you."

"You may try," I said evenly, looking at him in undisguised contempt. "You wouldn't be the first brute who attempted."

Looking at him, I knew if he ever did get one of those enormous hands around my throat I likely wouldn't be able to pry it loose. The only advantage I would have in having him for an opponent was that he was larger...and would move slower. He wasn't fat by any means...in fact I doubted if there were any trace of it hiding beneath that enormous coat. And judging by the scars on his face and his hands, I could well determine his occupation.

"You're a boxer?"

"Oh, aye. Just returned from London." He flashed an oddly warm smile, "Been itching to see a certain little woman at home, and then I find out Eva has been working for you all this time. Damn rotten timing, but it cannot be helped," he said, his manner relaxing and turning more brooding than angry. "If you see her, tell her to come by. It's been far too long...and we have much to discuss."

I wasn't certain who would be more offended. This _little woman_ he spoke of, having a former lover come into her house, or Erik, who would no doubt be furious if I told the man the whereabouts of Madame Novelli. For the time being I wanted merely to discuss it with her. I would hate to unleash any more tragedy into her life, and just when it seemed she had found something she wanted. It was none of my business - of course - but I had seen the way she looked at Erik.

"Papa!" I glanced up to see Charlotte come tearing around the doorway, then collide into the legs of the man before me. She bounced backwards onto her bottom, then rubbed her head, glaring up at the giant of a man who stood uncertainly over her. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"Charlotte," I said, my tone warning her to be polite. She had lost every bit of her manners in the last month. Whether it was Erik's influence, or if it was the tragedy of losing her mother so young was unknown. "Make your apologies, then reenter this room the way you're supposed to."

Her defiant expression betrayed her cool tone, then she left the room and returned primly. She walked straight up to Zachary and stared at him. "Who are you?"

I sighed, and the man threw his head back and laughed, then shot me an apprehensive glance. "Well...I'm a friend of a lady who used to work here. Did you know Eva?"

"Eva?" she screeched, then looked over at me.

I could already feel that hand closing over my throat as I stifled a groan. "Charlotte, return to the nursery with your brother."

She lost interest in the man at that, making a terrible face. "Oh, but he's boring, Papa."

Papa Raoul, remember? I said silently. Erik wasn't going to take the loss of his reserved title well, but I thought she was far too young to distinguish between the two of us. And I was not one to complain to retain the honor of being her Papa.

"He's a baby, Charlotte," I reminded her. "He's supposed to be charming and cute...he isn't here to entertain you with song and dance."

She giggled and wandered over to me, her arms raised in supplication until I had no choice but to bend down and pick her up. I pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, then sent her scurrying out of the room with a golden coin, eager to put some distance between her mouth and Zachary's ear.

"Your daughter?" he murmured, a sad expression on his face for a moment.

"My...step-daughter...," I said, somewhat awkwardly.

I had decided on that action previously without consulting Erik, and any friends who had inquired into Charlotte's welfare had been given a placid story about Christine having been previously married and Charlotte was now living with her deceased husbands family. I wasn't sure it would hold water once she was a little older, but I had no intentions of being the one to explain our circumstances to her.

She had a father for that, and for once I was eternally grateful.

I said nothing to Zachary about what I knew of Eva's personal situation, nor did I inform him that Charlotte had been the child she had been in charge of. Nothing more was needed to say this morning, and I had promised Charlotte I would return her to Erik as soon as she had eaten lunch. Zachary gazed vacantly at a wall for several moments, a cognitive expression on his face.

"Monsieur, will there be anything else?" I asked brusquely.

"No, nothing," he muttered. "If you see her..."

"I shall advise her to look you up," I said patiently, then looked towards the door. "If you please...I have much to accomplish today."

He left as abruptly as he had come, not bothering to apologize for his rude mannerisms, or walking into my home uninvited. I couldn't imagine Eva doing anything remotely shocking with such a gruff and untoward looking character. It was not in his dress...he wore fine enough clothes. It was in his expression, and in the way he spoke. He more resembled an ogre than a man, yet he was not nearly half as surly as Erik.

It would be interesting to find out what method Erik would contrive to keep Eva in his grasp. With a man like Zachary Rougette, he would be in for more than a beating. If that man ever got close enough, he could rub your ears together with one squeeze.

- -

I returned Charlotte to Erik's, my heart feeling heavy as I watched her race up the stairs to her room. I wasn't surprised by all that I had found inside his house, and was merely thankful that if there were any traps I had not fallen into one. How disgraced I would have been to have fallen for his tricks again, knowing what sort of things he could devise. I trudged up to the second floor, seeing that odd girl that Erik had rescued doing twirls with Charlotte in the hallway. In her gaiety, the blue silk scarf flew off her head and landed near my feet, revealing that she had for some reason cut her hair.

I had seen her before...her hair had not needed to be cut. And she had not merely trimmed it...no...she had butchered it. It was shorter than mine now. Much shorter, and I could see her scalp in several places.

"And then you lift your leg," Charlotte instructed, "and spin round and round!"

"Like this?" the girl asked, then lifted her foot awkwardly into her hands, then bounced around the hall on one foot.

Charlotte giggled...and I stifled laughter. I wondered if Erik had the chance to watch his strange new charge. In her attempts to be a ballerina, she displayed quite a bit of leg, and succeeded in knocking over a table in the hall. A great crash echoed throughout the house, and both of them stopped and stared.

"Oh, I hope he didn't like that vase," she murmured, then turned to Charlotte and shrugged. "Did your Papa like that?"

"I don't know." Charlotte worried her lip for a moment. "Probably."

"Oh." She shrugged again, and touched her bald head. "My...where did...?"

"Madame, I believe you lost something," I said softly, then bent to retrieve the scarf.

She turned to face me, and instead of looking suitably horrified as any other woman would have, she smiled. "Oh, thank you Vicomte de Chagny." She blushed, and simpered, and I realized quite suddenly that she could be no more than twenty. So young to have endured a place such as Salpetrerie. So young...and yet she was likely not the youngest.

I handed her the scarf, and our eyes met, plunging me back to a day when I had retreived another scarf...for another girl. My stomach plummeted to my feet, my throat tightened so much I stopped breathing. In an instant I was standing near the German Sea, watching a young girl with long curly hair crying as a red scarf fluttered in the wind and landed in the gray, misty water. I had been enchanted by Christine in the moment I had returned the scarf to her, shivering as a cold March wind blew through my wet clothing. I had loved her every single moment after that, when she had been young and happy. Before Gustave had died, and left her a heartbroken, lonely girl. Dreams of love and passion had driven me through my adolescence, carrying me through the military and on into manhood.

And still I never forgot her...and now I would have given anything for blessed amnesia. If I could forget her smell...her smile...her eyes. If I could forget, then I could move on.

"Monsieur?" the girl asked, her face scrunched into a worried expresssion. "Are you alright?"

I cleared my throat, choking when I realized it was still tight. I needed a drink, and I needed to cry, and I nodded quickly and brushed past her, intent on hiding in the walls of Erik's home until I could compose myself.

"Oh, I wouldn't go up there," she called as I touched the wall where the door was located.

I turned, still unable to speak, regarding her with what was undoubtedly a cold expression, masking the raw panic I felt inside. I could almost taste the salt of the water on my lips, and hear the gulls crying overhead. And Charlotte was close enough to looking like Christine that I need not have closed my eyes to imagine her.

"_They_ could be napping," she informed me, giving me a wry grin. "I wouldn't want to disturb them."

"It's well past noon!"

She arched her brow, and shrugged. "Haven't you ever _napped_?"

"I have," Charlotte piped up. "I didn't know grownups took naps!"

I glanced at her, then back at the other woman with a disapproving look. "Well, your father is tired from his fall, and Eva is taking care of him, so she must be tired as well. They both need their rest, so why don't you go on and play, Charlotte? I will speak with Erik later."

"Speak with Erik about what?"

I turned, seeing Eva coming down the hallway from her room. I shot a look of disgust at the woman for misinforming me, and strode towards Eva.

"It's...a private matter. Is he awake?"

"I suppose he is," she said, looking perfectly innocent. "I really wouldn't know. Didn't you just see me come from _my_ room?"

I said nothing about the millions of false doors in the house, and I didn't doubt that one led directly to her room from his. If she was intent on preserving her reputation somewhat, who was I to say anything? I only hoped Erik knew what he was doing...which was why I had decided to tell him about Zachary, rather than Eva. I felt I owed him something, though I imagined that as the messenger I was not going to be pleased by his reaction.

I only hoped that he showed more restraint than he had with Christine...and had learned his lesson about games and deception. They do not endear women to a man...nor do they encourage honest love and devotion.

Nor do the things I did...but that is a another matter entirely.


	3. Learning How to Please

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

I left Erik's completely discouraged, and to my dismay, near tears. I knew he would find it funny that I had failed to track down his little chaperon. He had only hired her to irritate me. I knew it. He knew it. The only person who probably didn't was Lacey.

Still, I felt bad for saying what I had. Not that it wasn't true. But she had heard me, and for that I was deeply sorry. I had never said something so disrespectful about a woman before. Never. Especially not in her presence. Having always prided myself on being a gentleman, it was a mar on my conscious that I had not made reparations with the little chit. She at least deserved to hear my apology, though I did not for one moment believe she was suitable for Charlotte.

No, I would apologize for saying what I had. But I would not offer my congratulations on her new employment. Hopefully she would be such a disaster that Erik would get rid of her, and Charlotte could go back to Eva. Things had changed too much in her life recently. But I suspected it wouldn't last long in any case. She was unsuitable, and if given enough rope she would hang herself. Erik would never allow Charlotte to become permanently supervised by someone like that.

But I couldn't stop thinking about his bald little chaperon. Even after going to Regates, and sitting in a private room with three other men I barely knew yet called friends. It was depressing to realize I truly had none anymore. After I had married Christine, they had all seemed to vanish. Most of them had ignored her – and me in the process. The most influential ones proclaimed me an idiot for marrying such an uninteresting woman, and the others soon followed suit. I had an idea that it had more to do with their own wives rather than personal opinions. Men usually don't shun a lady merely because she was unpopular. Women often do.

Christine had not been a favorite among the wives of my friends. And she had tried so very hard to please them – rather than me, though I thought she might have confused the two. Her rules about Charlotte staying in the school room had been founded mostly by her belief that if she adhered to rules my mother enforced, she would earn their respect. Not that we had company all the time, and sometimes I wondered if it was simply her nature not to nurture. We had stayed in Paris long enough for society's matrons and other influential women to determine that they didn't like Christine, nor approve of our hasty marriage.

And when Charlotte had come along...well...I had fallen slightly out of favor as well, with some of my parent's oldest and dearest friends. Their stiffest and most strict ones, naturally.

"You need a woman, de Chagny." Guylan Ronquill informed me now, sitting back against the leather chair, his waistcoat buttons near to popping from the force of his gut. "Not a wife, mind you," he added when I scowled. "Just a good tupping, and you'll be back to rights. Make you forget all about your late wife. I know a lady who'll – "

He stopped as I shifted my legs back, as if to rise. "I thank you for your concern, Ronquill. I assure you if I need _tupped_, I will find someone that doesn't have the pox."

"Now don't get your smalls in a twist," his older, much smaller brother said. "Guylan is only trying to help."

I said nothing, staring at a low fire on the grate. I went to Regates only to get away from the house, but I hated it here more than anywhere else. Most nights these same boring old windbags were here, and I had never quite been bothered enough to tell them how much I hated them. Not even for my wife – which I most certainly should have done. And now they wished me to further smear her memory by indulging in carnal delights? Just over a month after I buried her? Against my wishes, my gut tightened as I thought of sinking into soft female flesh, and abandoning my grief – if only for a moment.

I vacated the club quietly, ignoring the soft laughter of the men inside, as well as their wishes for luck. I hated my thoughts. I was incredibly lonely, and the thought of joining a woman was tempting. Too tempting. I ordered my carriage and settled back against the seat, a throbbing pain in my chest that would not diminish.

I was the worst sort of man alive.

Because I told my driver to take me there.

Not to the cemetery.

Not home, where I belonged but didn't want to be.

To Jacqueline's.

She was a sultry creature...smoky blue eyes and long, starlit hair. I had known her for a lifetime. She had wanted me since I had first met her, at sixteen. A good year or two older than I, she had assured me when I had been a wet eared lad that she could teach me all of the secrets of Aphrodite. I had settled for a fumbling kiss behind the topiary, and having both my hands filled with generous bosom – my first.

Alas...I had been much older when I lost my virginity. To Christine. And I didn't even want to think about the connotations of my wife having two lovers, both of whom were virgins.

Jacqueline's butler took my card, and she received me with some surprise in her drawing room. I hadn't seen her but once or twice since my wedding, excluding her appearance at Christine's funeral, which I didn't remember. She had made no secret of her willingness to accept me as a lover before or after my wedding, but I had never been too terribly tempted until now.

Now I trembled as I took in her exquisitely tailored gown, looking as if were spun from pure gold. She was golden...everywhere. Her limbs, her hair, streaked with moonbeams. I could drown in such a lush woman, if I were so inclined. Any man possessing even one ounce of libido would find her arousing, and I possessed more than my fair share of libido even if it was often ignored.

Yet when her seductive smile widened, and she crossed the room to stand before me – I felt abject terror.

And she knew instantly, because she was a woman of considerable experience, and I was still nothing more than a green boy thinking of striking an intimate acquaintance with one of Paris's most beautiful women. A widow like me, though I doubted that once in the last eight years she had missed her husband – a man fatter than both the Ronquill brother's put together – who had been old enough to be her father.

"Monsieur de Chagny," she said, with substantial warmth. "My, what a pleasant surprise – though I admit I usually do not receive callers after ten."

My eyes nearly bulged out of my head. Ten? Christ, what had I been thinking, stopping by her residence this late? As if she were more than a friend - hardly that - and already a lover? And now that I was here, I knew it was a mistake.

I was not ready to forget Christine – even for a moment of pleasure.

"My lady," I said stiffly, bowing with what I hoped was elegance, and not of embarrassment. "I hope I have not inconvenienced you."

"Not at all." She smiled again as I took her hand and pressed a kiss across her slim fingers. "I am terribly sorry about Christine. I regret that I did not know her very well."

Jacqueline could not have said anything worse to me at the moment, and I turned away swiftly, though I knew I had not hidden my vulnerability. "I..."

She said nothing else, though her condolences had been sincere. She was not one of my father's stiff laced friends, nor was she a proper society bird. Her friends ran along the lines of the literate crowd, and she had been a frequent attendee of all of the city's opera houses, as well as smaller theaters and private productions. I still wondered what had compelled me here. I could look at her and my desire would stir, but I was not experienced enough with women in general to believe I could seduce her. Or that she would seduce me – which would be closer to happening than the first option.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Monsieur," she said softly. "Why are you here?"

"I've no idea."

"I see," she said slowly. "Perhaps you would care for a drink then?''

I looked at her, and saw a mixture of concern and eagerness on her face. She was more beautiful than Christine by far, though I could only look at my wife and feel more love for her greater than any desire for any other woman in the world. "Yes, thank you."

She poured us each a drink, and I knew she felt my eyes following her around the elegant drawing room. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips; she knew why I was here, even if I no longer did. I didn't miss the gleam of pleasure in her eyes as she handed me a glass of scotch, nor did I miss the burning questions in them.

"Did you think to come here with less than honorable intentions?" Jacqueline asked bluntly, a smug look turning her mouth into a gentle, mocking smile. "Monsieur, I have not taken a lover to my bed in several years. Surely you have better manners than that, Vicomte."

I began to perspire instantly, far more uncomfortable with my error than she obviously was. "Of course not. I simply..."

I trailed off, knowing it sounded lame and pathetic. I was truly not accustomed to dealing with women in any manner. Christine had been nothing like this woman. A small look would cross between us, and occasionally she would invite me to her bedchamber. But our marital intimacies were nothing more than duty to her. I had seen the passion she shared with Erik on stage – I had never even come close to making her feel pleasure. I had always tried to avoid thinking about her in rapturous wonder in Erik's arms, but the obvious chemistry between them was hard to ignore. And now I had insulted two women today. One a lady, and one obviously _not._

"Forgive me, Madame Pochet. I am not greatly experienced in these matters."

I stared at my hands, cupped around the glass, completely unable to look her in the eyes. I felt my face heat, because I perceived her to be looking at me, and I wasn't certain if she would slap me or not. She had been a young thing – though older than I – when I had kissed her behind a topiary and groped at her breasts. Looking back now, I knew she had likely not enjoyed it. Certainly not as much as I, though she had encouraged it. Probably because her husband resembled a swine, and acted like one as well.

"These matters?" she repeated softly.

I glanced up to see amusement in her eyes, and she approached slowly. I swallowed, my breathing quickening as she took the glass from my hands and set it aside.

"And what sort of matters are you referring to, Monsieur le Vicomte?" she purred, and the look in her eyes nearly felled me. "Sexual matters, perhaps?"

"I...I have made a tremendous mistake, Madame Pochet," I stammered, and tried to step back. She followed, and I retreated further much to her delight. "Please..."

"Please what?" she whispered huskily. "Please you? I think not."

I froze, certain I had been insulted. "Excuse me?"

"Did you really think you could come here in this manner, and I would fall across your lap?" she asked, though she didn't sound angry. Not as she should have. "When I take a man to bed – not that I do so as often as you must think – it is for my benefit. Not _theirs_. Do you understand?"

I shook my head quickly, and she advanced even more, a predatory look in her eyes. Her eyes were full of sensual promise, yet her breathing was unaffected, and she was looking more amused than aroused.

"I take a man for _my_ pleasure, Raoul," she said, a raspy little catch in her throat at my name. I closed my eyes briefly, feeling a threat to my very soul that she would make me forget more than Christine. I would forget my name, and likely what nation I was from. "I love men. But I haven't found a man that I desired in a long time." Her eyes slowly traveled down to my lips, darkening slightly and resembling a blue summer night sky. "If I remember correctly, your kisses were a little too eager, and your hands a little weak. I could teach you, though. If you were willing to learn how to pleasure me."


	4. Christine's Gift

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

I swallowed hard again, and my eyes went to her mouth as well. She should have already slapped me, yet she didn't, and I wasn't certain anymore if my mistake was unwelcome or not.

"_These matters_," she said quietly, "are better done with discretion. Do you understand that word? Your carriage would still be parked in front of my house if your driver were not wise, wouldn't it?"

I blinked and stared. "I fear I have made a mistake, Madame."

"Yes. You have," she replied. "If I had invited you here, it would have been different. As it is, my reputation is in tatters. It has been for some time, as I'm sure you know. But I haven't had as many lovers as most believe – though the number would still shock you, I'm sure."

"It is not my intention – "

"Oh, I think I know what you intended," she said quietly. "I can see that you are not here out of any malicious or vulgar reason. You are greiving. But I will not be a substitute for your wife. I'm not the sort of woman to lie beneath a man and count tiles on the ceiling, or memorize the patterns on the linen sheets. Nor am I willing for a man to do the same. If you want me, you will need to pursue me. I'm a woman greatly interested in pursuit, Monsieur."

"I can't...," I moved away from her intoxicating perfume, and stared at a portrait of someone who resembled her slightly above the mantle. "I am not interested in courtship."

"Courtship?" she chuckled softly. "Oh dear, you misunderstand. I'm not interested in courtship. Or marriage. I'm interested in pleasure, and a bit of fun. You are the most handsome man I've seen in years. You have always been so, as I'm sure you've been told. And I love..." she stopped, and I glanced back to find her eyes on my new haircut, then a smile again on her face.

It was refreshing – that smile. It was captivating, and beautiful, and most of all it was sincere. I wanted her. I closed my hands into fists, because I was struggling with my conscience, and my grief.

"Am I your first...acquaintance since...?" she asked gently. I didn't answer. I couldn't. "I'll make this very easy for you, then, as I'm sure you must be going through a difficult time."

"Easy?" I echoed.

"Well." Her eyes turned wicked and twinkled merrily. "Not too easy."

She followed me around the drawing room once more, and one of her hands eventually reached out and grasped the edge of my coat, tugging me near. I didn't breathe as she ran a hand across the lapel, then stood on her toes and leaned in close to my ear.

"When you are ready, Raoul, you may take me to some function. An opera, or a play. Some nonsense like that. And then perhaps the next day we shall stroll near the river. And so on, and so forth. If I desire to...continue in any fashion...then we shall do so with discretion, and a great deal of fun. No poetry and flowers required. No promises, and certainly no words of love and romance." Her lips settled against my ear, and she nuzzled softly for the merest second, making me want to beg for more. "But if you come to my bed, it will be just the two of us there. I'm sure I don't need to elaborate. And you _will_ learn, Raoul. If you have not already been _tutored_...and I greatly suspect that you have not."

- -

I practically fled from her home. Her perfume stayed inside my nose long after I went to bed. I had taken a room furthest from our old suite as possible, and far enough away from the nursery to be comfortable. But my sleep was unrestful. I spent the night tossing and turning, torn between desire and guilt. When I finally drifted off, the dream was so horrifying that I wept.

In it I was attending a multiple funeral. One large grave, and two small. Christine, Charlotte, and James. I buried them all, amidst a snowy, winter garden. Erik stared accusingly at me from across the headstones, his finger pointing in fierce anger. Eva wept across Charlotte's grave with mud and snow staining her dress, and I was dry eyed with numbness, gazing vacantly at a spray of roses that adorned Christine's headstone.

"_You did this," _Erik shouted at me, and I nodded in agreement._ "You killed them!"_

I woke in a cold sweat. My heart was pounding, and I was sobbing uncontrollably.

No, I would not be going to Jacqueline immediately. If ever.

- -

I surprised the wet nurse when I entered the nursery. Thankfully she was not feeding the child, and she left quietly when I dismissed her. She didn't say a word, though I knew she thought it odd. I had never been here before, and as much as my hands shook I wasn't certain if I could stay.

He was lying awake, gurgling happily to himself and kicking his legs up in the air.

In the early morning light, his eyes easily found me and all sound ceased. I was a stranger to him. To my son. He made no protest as I lifted him, holding him at an awkward angle to study his fine features and blond wisps of hair. It was with extreme reluctance that I sat down and rocked him, but I needed to deal with him now. I didn't want us to be permanently estranged. I needed to grow to love him like I did Charlotte – not only because he was my own – but because he deserved the love of his father.

"Oh, James," I whispered.

He grasped onto my finger and held it, and awe touched my heart. Emotion swelled inside me, and I didn't stop the tears as they fell onto his blanket. I clutched him to me gently and sighed heavily, trying to keep from crying noisily. James merely drooled, content beyond measure to be held. He didn't appreciate the significance of our first true meeting, or the sacrifice I had made in coming in and holding him.

I was releasing some of my guilt by doing so. Acknowledging him as my son in the proper way was letting go of many things. If I could accept him the way I needed to, then one day maybe I wouldn't see Christine's death as blood on my hands. Maybe I wouldn't see him and think that she had forfeited her life in exchange for his. I wasn't sure if I wanted to let go of all the guilt. I didn't know if I could live with myself if the blame faded, and all I was left with were discontent memories and half happy moments of comfort.

I decided at some point that morning that my visits to Erik's would cease for the moment. Unless Charlotte again requested my company, of course.

I needed to get a grip back on my life. On my estate. On my son. My son. Not Erik's, I realized for the first time with some wonder. James was mine. She had given me that.

Christine's gift to both of the men she loved. Their children.


	5. Subterfuge

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

I had never appreciated a summons. Having received several in my life, mostly from my straight laced father, I was not pleased when my butler handed me one. From Superintendent Alencon at Salpetriere hospital. In truth, I had been expecting _something_. One doesn't just break into a hospital, steal patients and get away with it. So when it was delivered, I went without telling anyone. No need to aggravate Erik, who hadn't been in the best of moods anyway. And I didn't want to frighten either one of the women who'd escaped, nor Eva.

I followed a guard to a dim room that truly made me shudder. I had never been to this side of the hospital. During Christine's stay, I had seen brightly lit hallways and modestly decorated rooms, always with a touch of negative energy that always seems to occupy such places. This was a run down building near the river, and the stench was enough to knock me over.

"Ah, Vicomte." I turned to see two men standing side by side over a chair. It was then that I felt a merest tremor of unease. "Please, have a seat."

"No," I said rudely. "Which one of you is Alencon?"

The pudgy, balding gentleman stepped forward, wringing his hands together. "That would be me, of course. I thank you for coming."

"Perhaps you could tell me what this is about. I have no patience as of this moment," I informed him. The guard who I had followed left the room, closing the door behind him with a hard bang.

"We...ah...we regret to inform you that your late wife's documents have been stolen. It seems that someone broke into our records room and the only ones missing were Christine de Chagny's."

I raised a brow, and feigned a furious and shocked tone. "I beg your pardon, _Monsieur_?"

Alencon cleared his throat, glancing nervously at the other man. "We...we would like to ask you a few questions, Monsieur. It would seem that you had an altercation with the guards outside the gate the very same night we suffered a break in. Two patients are now missing, and a doctor on our staff is dead. Would you care to explain?"

I felt a noose tighten around my neck, and cursed inwardly. "Is this a formal investigation?" I challenged softly.

"No," the he said quickly. "Oh, no. Of course not."

"Are you sure?" I asked swiftly, waving a hand behind me. "Because I can get the Prefect and get this cleared up. Rather like a bloodhound, that man." I tapped my nose and grinned, "He's always loved a good mystery. This sounds like a good one to me."

The man looked suddenly queasy, and I noticed the other man, a rather sharp featured one with an oily smile just looked angry.

"No," Alencon repeated. "We would just like – "

"We?" I cut in. "I didn't catch _your_ name."

"Doctor Blaise Soboul."

"I'll remember that," I said lightly, then ignored him. "Alencon, do you have something specific to ask me? Christmas is but two days away, and I have to admit I find your office deplorably depressing."

Actually, I found the entire Christmas season depressing. My wife had been gone for over two months, and the grief had only lessened slightly when I had first taken James into my arms. I hadn't shared a bed with Christine at night, but it was growing harder to sleep alone. I was ashamed to admit that Jacqueline Pochet was on my mind, all too frequently.

"Ah, yes," he said nervously. "There was a man outside the hospital...perhaps you could tell us something about him?"

"A masked man," Soboul added, looking pleased for some reason. "You helped him escape the guards, I believe."

"That unfortunate soul?" I asked, shaking my head with a significant amount of pity. "Yes, I think he was a tunnel vagrant and your guards shot him in the back. Very unfortunate. I'm sorry, but he did pass on later that night. I hope you have fired those incompetent fools. No man deserves to be killed and beaten in such a manner."

"Oh, stop it," Soboul snapped. "We know you had something to do with us. Tell us where the women are."

I raised my brow, fixing him with a cold, assessing gaze. "Do you work here?"

He seemed taken aback by my question. "Well, no. Not exactly."

"Then get the hell out of here, or I _will_ bring the Prefect back here with me. I have the feeling you two are trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug. And I advise you to keep sweeping."

Soboul glared at me as he stalked past, and shot the superintendent a pointed glance. He looked like a buzzard ready to pounce on a dead, bloated meal. Alencon simply looked bloated.

I stepped closer to Alencon, because I simply knew that if I did so his eyes would bulge just a little, and his stammer would increase. He was the jackass of Paris, and everyone knew it. I had never met him before, but he was frequently a caricature in Belle Epoque, and it was never in a good light. Known for being railroaded by the board, though not easily bribed, he was a man who wanted to make changes, and didn't have the courage to do it.

I didn't believe he was a vicious man. But I did think he was a coward, who would serve me better alone than with a hawk like Soboul staring at us both.

"What," I asked softly once I was against his face, "is going on?"

"Sir?" he whispered, a man who was a good twenty years my senior.

"Tell me," I said encouragingly. "What is going on? Perhaps we can keep this between us. Perhaps I can help you."

His bloodshot eyes widened in his pig-fat face. "Help me?" he asked, as though I had offered him a donut.

"If you tell me what is going on, perhaps I will."

That _perhaps_ I will part didn't seem to register to him. He was a drowning man who had been offered a lifeline, and he reached for it like salvation.

"Come look at this," he ordered, and left me standing in the room alone. I followed him down a stone hallway, damp with mildew and other things I was not fond of smelling. The large chamber he led me into contained two large rows of beds, all of them empty. The smell inside that room was so bad that we both covered our noses.

The cots were bare, and what linens were present I was certain I would not want touching my skin. They reeked of fecal matter and blood, and a great deal of waste was present on the center of the mattresses. As if people had been tied there and forced to...

I felt a bolt of shame strike through me. I had been cruel to Erik's ward – and this was what she had endured. This had been her prison. I was sure of it. Rebbecca's prison. This was the reason Erik had risked his life...a horror I had never realized. I'd heard of these places, yes. But I had never seen anything like this. It had never touched my life, and I had been foolishly ignorant of it when Christine had been here.

"This was Doctor Victor Clarke's ward," he said, shaking his head. "I never knew the extent of this abuse. Patients tied to beds. Forced to endure experiments; both psychological and chemical. He liked to terrorize them and record reactions. And he let the guards rape them frequently while they were tied to their beds."

"And you did nothing?" I asked in a low, dangerous voice.

He didn't look me in the eyes, but I saw how much he had wanted to. "These patients...there is no record of them ever being here. Do you understand? Victor didn't report these women as being patients. There is no documentation of their existence. None. They were here because there families _paid_ Victor to be rid of them. Because they weren't wanted. I can't tell you if they were really meant to be here or not. Simply that they shouldn't have endured this...this horrible room. Not one of them deserved it. He even kept his own wife here."

He cast me a suspicious glance. "You know...your governess's sister. One of the women who escaped."

I shook my head. "Madame Novelli left my employ the day of my wife's funeral."

That much was true. I didn't want to see any connection being made to those two. I didn't think Rebbecca Clarke would survive another day in this place.

He murmured something sympathetically, but I didn't want it. I looked at him squarely, finding pleasure in watching him squirm.

"Who is Doctor Soboul?"

His eyes bulged again, and he glanced suspiciously around. "His wife was kept here as well. She is our other missing woman. He is a doctor at Bicetre."

"I don't know where they are," I said quietly. "I hope you never find either one of them."

Alencon's face broke out into a fleshy grin. "I hope I don't either. By helping me, you will be helping them."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked simply.

"Whatever it takes," he cried. "Whatever means necessary. Get him off my back. He's threatened to expose the hospital."

"I think you should do it yourself."

His face paled, and he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, patting his sweating face. "Oh, how I wish I could. I wish I had the fortitude to do such a thing. It would mean the loss of my job, and the utter ruin of my name. But I would do it if I could."

"Why can't you?" I asked slowly. "Has he threatened to harm you?"

He shook his head, "No. That would bring about his own ruin. Monsieur...it would ruin your own name. Your wife was here. Your daughter born here. Somehow you are connected to the liberation of these women, and don't think Blaise doesn't realize that. Your governess's sister was freed. Your wife's records were taken. And all on the same night you just happened to be riding by...you forced the guards to release the man they suspected of killing Doctor Clarke and kidnapping the women. And I believe your governess was with you on that night as well."

"Coincidence!"

He laughed dryly and shook his head. "I don't care what you have done. I'm glad this place is no more. I've developed ulcers just thinking about it since I assumed this job three years ago. But Soboul isn't about to let his wife go so easily. He's been watching you, you know. If you have any inkling where those women are, I suggest you keep them hidden."

"You will not admit them to this hospital," I said quietly. "Or I will publish my own version of these events."

"Dear God," he murmured.

"I want my daughter's records," I said flatly. "And no...I didn't steal my wife's. If I had wanted them, I would have come in here and taken them. I've never needed subterfuge to obtain what I want. I like to deal with things in a straightforward manner."

"Of course," he said faintly. "If you will come with me. We will go get those records now."


	6. A Man Possessed

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

Here our darling Lacey makes her debut in the story. I won't do many crossovers, but this is a redo of the scene where Lacey and Raoul are in the kitchen. In it, I put their details of laughter down on paper (or on screen). I hope you like my slightly off beat character. But keep in mind that their story will be just as tumultuous as Erik and Eva. (I'm so evil).

**Lacey**

Cooking had always been a comfort to me. Even as a daughter of the aristocracy, I had loved to do nothing more than slip down to the kitchens and help Benedict, my father's chef, cook delicious meals. It was why I was a fat child. Oh, not so much _fat_ really. I was a chubby, happy girl. Oh, well alright. I was _fat._ _But..._I was happy. And nothing had made me happier than a large piece of chocolate...in a cake...in a pie. Just a large piece of chocolate...it had never really mattered to me. I'd been a little chubby...growing out of it just a little when I'd started to develop curves instead of rolls, and added to the little bit of height that I'd gained I liked to call myself: voluptuous.

I wasn't going to be a_ fat _woman, I had decided when I was a young girl. I was going to be a _voluptuous **woooomaaaan**_.

So when Erik had rescued me, and I had found myself in a kitchen a mere hour after my rescue I had known I was going to be alright. I had decided then and there that I was going to be fine. My masked rescuer, and the beautiful lady who'd helped...well...they were all the heroes I needed. I wanted nothing more than to forget that place and reclaim my life. Reclaim my happiness. Despite the dreams I still had, and the terrifying abhorrence to beds, I was going to survive. And in that simple fact I was happy. I was going to devote myself to life's simple pleasures. Cast away all those silly rules that had governed my life before. I was going to get fat again.

_Ladies don't do this. Ladies don't do that_. I had been a proper child, and I had been pampered and spoiled and loved. And in the end I had still been held down and raped in a filthy hospital bed nearly every day for a year.

My reality crashed slightly when Raoul de Chagny reappeared in my life, and I was forced to remember the girl I had been. Then I had decided (since I was reinventing myself anyway, and as I went along I might add) that I didn't want to forget her. I wanted to_ reclaim_ her. She was mine. Diana was mine (that's my real name, if you haven't been paying attention), and I didn't want to forget her.

But I was more than a little upset that he didn't remember her. He barely glanced at me, and when he did, it made my stomach flip inside. I had gotten quite a look into those haunted blue eyes when he had handed me my scarf. And he'd looked at me so oddly, such a mixture of melancholy and fear. I had wanted to find out why such a man would look like that.

Oh, I knew his story, of course. Who hadn't? I'd heard of the singer, though I'd been crushed as a young girl when he had married her. I'd heard of the Phantom (and yes, I knew it was Erik. I mean, really. How dumb do you think I am?). I knew his wife had died, and how. Still, I hadn't let go of this girlhood fantasy of him. Not until I heard him speaking one day about my unintelligent nature, and lack of maturity. Oh, and he did mention I was cracked.

So it was with great surprise that on Christmas I found myself alone with him in Eva's kitchen. He came in and offered to help, said something about roasting chestnuts, and he'd scowled when I had giggled. I couldn't help it. He'd deeply hurt my feelings, but who could really blame him? Maybe I was cracked. I certainly wasn't all that mature, and didn't really want to be. As for intelligence...well...I can do sums in my head, and recite Shakespeare, but I'd much rather be cooking.

I was almost terrified now of him finding out who I was. That I was a girl he'd danced with over five years ago. A slightly awkward but curvy fifteen year old, and he'd danced with me in a moonlit hallway – while my heart raced and my eyes fluttered (I'd heard that was what a girl should do if she desired a kiss. It didn't work). And then he'd excused himself and kissed my hand, then went in search of someone else. But I had relived that moment for_ years_. All through my marriage, and in the hospital. It seemed like fate that we would meet again the same night I escaped.

But I was terrified of being found out. And I anticipated it all the same.

What would he say if he knew? What would I say?

"What are they doing out there?" he asked, sticking his head out into the hall.

I moved beneath his arm so that I could look, conscious of him staring down at my wig, where beneath my head was sweating. "Oh. Mistletoe," I murmured, then giggled. Erik glared at me over Eva's shoulder, then returned his attention to her.

Eva stammered a few times, her voice carrying down the hall as she tried to explain the custom to him.

"Did you do this?" he whispered behind me.

"Yes I did," I said proudly. "Erik doesn't know what mistletoe is used for."

And he laughed. Laughed loudly and we both ducked back into the kitchen and held our stomachs and continued to laugh.

"That poor bastard," he said, shaking.

"Oh, he isn't so poor," I said, turning back to arrange rissoles on a tray. "He's the one being kissed, I must remind you."

I felt him staring at me, and glanced over my shoulder. His eyes were on the wig, hot and heavy against my head. I could feel sweat sliding down my scalp and into my bodice, but for the first time I did not feel safe enough to remove it.

Safe.

I didn't feel safe around Raoul de Chagny anymore. I felt that way around Erik. But Raoul? I shouldn't ever want to be with a man again. Over a month since I'd been released, and he could look at me and make my stomach flop around like a dying sea bass. I didn't particularly like that feeling – and yet I did.

"Would you like me to open a window?" he offered politely.

"Yes," I breathed sharply, "actually you could just open the side door. It's stifling in here with the oven."

He did so, and I inhaled fresh December air, much preferable over the hot, spicy smells coming from the kitchen. Eva was a less than adequate cook...and I was determined to make this a better Christmas for them all – if simply by making it taste better.

"It was nice of you to do this for her," he said quietly, resuming his task of sweetening the cocoa. "For Erik too."

I shrugged negligently, "I like to cook."

"Lacey..."

"Madame Chartraine," I cut in smoothly, knowing he was on the verge of apology. I didn't need to be reminded of that day, no more than he.

"I beg your pardon?" His eyes widened, and he leaned on the ice box, draping his hand over a small, empty fruit bowl.

I glanced at him and displayed a cheeky smile. "Madame Chartraine. Erik's late brother Garin's daughter, orphaned and all alone," I recited, then chuckled, pleased with my rehearsed speech. It was the first time I'd said it to anyone, and surprisingly it felt good. Right.

Apparently he didn't see it that way.

"You two have concocted this scheme?" he asked in a less than pleasant tone.

"It seemed best, all things considered," I said stiffly. "I must tell people _something_."

Not that I ever intended to leave his home. Ever. This day was one out of three hundred and sixty five more that I would remain in his home. If he wanted to spend Christmas here, so be it. But I had no intention of ever leaving.

He scoffed, loudly, then shook his head.

"I apologize, Madame. I am not in the best of moods today."

"Then go somewhere else," I snapped. "I don't need you depressing me too, with your sad blue eyes and characteristic scowls. You're a boorish man."

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I shoved a tray of risolles in his hand, then grabbed the smoked salmon pastry dish.

"Make yourself useful," I instructed, then left the room.

It seemed my feelings were easily concealed with a few waspish words, and a great deal of sarcasm. It was only later when I saw his face as he stormed through the house and out the back door that I regretted them.

He had looked like a man possessed.


	7. A Married Man

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

I updated my profile for this story. Please check it out.

**Raoul**

_1879_

_Three years later_

It seemed I hovered in a world between darkness and light, where I constantly struggled with guilt and grief. I passed the landmark of thirty years without so much as blinking, in a blind, drunken bout that had ended with me making a fool of myself at Regates in front of equally drunk men. Thankfully most of them didn't recall me ranting about the injustice of fate, or the cruel, cold – hearted world that had robbed me of my youth.

I'd been ashamed of myself later, looking around my expensively decorated home, hearing the healthy sound of three year old James running through the house, and being addressed by a title I sometimes hated.

I wasn't upset because Christine was gone. I wasn't falling down in my cups because Erik had found happiness with Eva, and he'd managed to beget another healthy child in addition to Charlotte and Amber (who wasn't really his). No...I was drunk...because my mistress deserted me.

Jacqueline Pochet.

A beautiful creature, if one ever lived. I wasn't in love with her. Nor she in love with me. But over the last two years we had developed the sort of fondness that cannot merely be broken with a simple, final act of farewell. She'd been my tutor, and I a willing pupil. We hadn't merely been lovers...no...not just that. I'd made a fool of myself countless times, always assuming that I was entitled to her favors. That she would willingly lie beneath me, and I'd bring her untold pleasure.

In point of fact, our first meeting was a disaster.

And our second meeting went a little bit like this:

- -

"I figured I had frightened you off for good. Either you would come back, and change your mind again – or I would never see you. You surprise me, Monsieur," Jacqueline purred.

"How do we proceed?" I asked urgently, needing to be sated after such a long abstinence. I'd been out of my mind the last three months, trying to decide whether or not I should approach her again. And eight months after Christine died I was here. I didn't want to be alone on the anniversary of Christine's death. In four months that would happen. I wasn't sure I could take that sort of pain. I was alone – so dreadfully alone.

She gave a slight shake of her head. "Oh, no darling. We need to clear something up. Immediately."

"What?" I whispered, unable to stop looking at her lips.

"I'm nobody's whore," she said quietly. "Most especially not yours. And I'm not your mistress. We may or may not become lovers, Raoul. That is for me to decide. And it certainly won't be an easy one for me to make."

My eyes shot to hers, and I knew a dismay equal to hell. I couldn't seem to open my mouth anymore without insulting a woman. And I had done so twice now with this one, by assuming she would be on my beck and call. By assuming she was doing me a favor – or more laughable – that I was doing her one.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked carefully.

Jacqueline smiled, a pure feline look in her eyes. "You aren't insipid, Raoul. You are clever enough to figure out what I want."

"I don't," I said honestly. "I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. And I've already told you I won't court you, Madame."

"Jacqueline," she corrected, with a sly smile. "I wouldn't think of it as courting, dearest. Think of it as...seduction. I want you to seduce me. Or try at least, very hard."

I lifted my arms to her, but she stepped away. "Oh, not today, darling. I'm not quite that easy to conquer. Even animals take longer to mate than that. And you really,_ really_ don't know if you want me yet or not. You only_ think_ you do."

"Oh, but I do," I replied huskily.

She smiled and lifted an elegant shoulder. "Perhaps. But, like I said, I'm nobody's whore. Our relationship won't have a future, I assure you, but at the very least we will know one another before we slip between the sheets. There is more to seduction than you might think."

"Show me," I murmured.

Jacqueline raised her brow. "Very well. One brief example of non seduction first, though: Say that you are my husband," she smiled when I frowned, and continued, "you come home every day, kiss my cheek, sit across from me at dinner, and we converse lightly before bed. After I've changed my garments behind the safety of a screen, you climb on top of me and we make love. The time you enter me, is the first time you kiss my mouth. And the lights are off, so that we cannot see each other."

I felt my face heat, because it sounded exactly like my encounters with Christine. And I suspected that Jacqueline knew this, because she gave me a kind and sympathetic smile.

"That was_ sort_ of how my marriage was too," she said gently. "Never mind the age difference, or the way he looked. If he had taken even a moment to hold me, or kiss me before we climbed into bed, I would have enjoyed it. Not because I found him handsome, or that I was dying of need for him. But because he was my husband, and I really did _want_ to love him. I wanted to feel more than being held down while he mounted me."

"Jacqueline – "

"Don't interrupt," she cut in sweetly. "I haven't given you an example of _seduction _yet."

"Then you may do so," I said, though my ears were already shocked beyond measure. I'd never heard a lady speak this way. And the fact that I found it highly erotic was a little disturbing.

"I never needed flowers and poetry while I was married. But if my husband had kissed me – romantically, of course – each morning before he left for the office, then again when he returned...Perhaps pulled me into a drawing room and kissed me behind a door, and perhaps let his hands travel over my...well...I'm sure you get the idea," she smiled, dropping a hand that had been creeping from her throat down to her bodice. "If he had said something to me – anything – about my beauty, or finding me irresistible; kissed me for at least five minutes before his hands ever strayed anywhere in the bedroom...," she looked dreamy, and I felt my pulse pound hard. "Taken me for walks. To the opera. Held my hand, kissed it occasionally...my lips...my throat...ears..."

I swallowed and stared, because she seemed to be growing excited merely talking about seduction. Perhaps this wasn't a bad idea after all. She looked like she could combust.

"If he had done any of those things, I would have done anything for him," she whispered softly. "In bed...and out of it as well. But, do you know what my husband was like, Raoul?"

"Unfortunately, I did meet him," I murmured, remembering a portly man who'd always been a little cruel.

"Then you know about the tons of mistresses he had. He was never settled with me. He brought them into our home when I was gone. Sometimes when I wasn't. Into our marriage bed," she said, her eyes filled with sudden sadness. "I rebelled early in my marriage to him. If you recall a certain garden party...?"

I cleared my throat. "Yes. I recall it quite well."

"I was eighteen, and I'd already had a lover other than my husband," she said softly. "And I would have taken you, because I was so angry, and so hurt. I...I know what you have thought of me all these years. I worked very hard to destroy my reputation while my husband was alive. And his in the process. In the end though, I did something very, very stupid..."

The constant murmur of sex that surrounded her fell away, and her eyes turned a vulnerable, soft shade of blue. Feeling that she needed it, I took her hand, and she gave me a little smile.

"What did you do?" I asked softly.

"I fell in love. With a married man," she replied. "And he didn't love me back."

I grew still. "Not...not me...," I breathed.

She laughed. Actually laughed! "Oh, no. No, not you, dear."

My relief couldn't have been more evident, and she touched my cheek briefly.

"You don't know him," she chuckled. "I wish that I didn't."

Jacqueline patted my hand as I struggled to catch my breath. I had been so certain...and it was almost disappointing to know she hadn't been pining after me for years. But an overwhelming relief that it wasn't me at the same time.

"He is the husband to a very good friend of mine," she said softly, her face becoming sober. "And I made the mistake of making an advance on him. A little forward, even for me," she blushed. "He never told his wife, and I know that he hates me. Just as much as he loves her."

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely, tipping her chin up. "I'm sorry for...for not understanding you better. I hope you will allow me to correct that, Jacqueline."

Her eyes turned back into that sultry, smoke blue. "Ah, well," she murmured, her hands slipping around my neck. "You will learn a great many things about me, Raoul. But the most important lesson I hope you learn, is never to take a woman for granted. Especially me."

"Tell me what to do, Jacqueline."

"Stalk me," she whispered seductively, caressing the hair at the nape of my neck. "Find out where I will be...simply...show up. You will spend more time with me out of the bedroom than in it, Raoul. I don't allow boys to grope me in gardens anymore. And I haven't taken a lover since...since..."

"He turned you down?"

She flushed, grimaced, and nodded.

"I will treat you better than that," I promised. "So long as this is just..."

"It is," she said hastily. "I'm not interested in marriage. To anyone. But this will be...exclusive. If I find out it's not, then we will not part amicably, I'm afraid."

- -

The truth is, we did part amicably. At first...but most of the contention was on my part. I had grown to know Jacqueline very well. In bed and out. And I had appreciated her, very much. She'd taught me how to love a woman...how to romance a woman. We hadn't jumped right into bed, as I had often hoped.

No, the woman had made me suffer. She had made me earn the right to make love to her. It had been an agonizing three months...yes...three months...until I had finally talked myself into her bed. But I didn't regret it. Not really. I had _known _her when we had finally made love. I had known her favorite book, color, composer, song, tea, candy, and even the name of her modiste. I had ultimately discovered that if I wanted to know where Madame Jacqueline Pochet was going to be, then I need only bribe Madame Ann Marie Amadeus.

And once that had started, it had involved wresting invitations to balls, salons, tea parties (ugh), dinner parties, and finding out which plays she would attend, and with whom. I'd gotten into the habit of doing as I did before I married Christine. I'd rediscovered myself in the aristocracy, and found out that not all of us are utter bores. I'd found that my life could begin again without my wife, though I still missed her very much. But living...I had begun to do so slowly. Crawling out of my despair, and sometimes falling back in. But pursuing Jacqueline...it honestly felt good. To have a purpose. To desire someone, and have her smile coyly and flutter her lashes, only to leave on the arm of another gentleman. As dreadful as that sounds, I had known I was the only man she wished to start an affair with. There had been no questions with Jacqueline. No jealous rages, for either one of us. No hidden meaning to our games. There had been an easy friendship between us once I'd gotten an idea of what I needed to do.

I could see her at a ball one night, dance with her, then lead her down the shadowy path of a garden and not exchange more than words. As much as she had tempted me, I'd honestly been surprised to find out she was an intelligent woman. She was witty and kind, and it was only when I had removed my expectations of a woman who would drown me in sex that I found that she was often vulnerable. Most of the time she was mocking me with gentle flirtation – and I had perceived it to be something else. Jacqueline wasn't just my mistress. She became my friend, and always would remain so. She had found a place in my heart, though I wouldn't call it love. Affection and desire mingled inside me, but it was nothing like the breathless way I had felt for Christine.

But Jacqueline ended our two year affair, and I had been shocked to find out she had put limitations on our arrangement. She'd never intended for it to be long lasting, and never wanted me to know she had a conscience regarding what we had done. She wanted me to think she was flippant and merely responsive, and did not possess a heart or true feelings.

Jacqueline was not all that she first appeared.

She was still very much in love with a married man.


	8. A Woman Smitten

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

"That's disgusting," I said to Amber, wrinkling my nose as she rolled mud between her fingers. "Young ladies are most certainly not supposed to do that."

Nine year old Amber looked to nine year old Charlotte. "Do I look like a young lady?" she demanded.

"No," Charlotte said, rolling her eyes. "You look like a giant carrot."

"Oh!" Amber blew her cheeks out crossly. "You...you look...you..."

"Girls," Eva said quietly, shifting the baby to her other arm. "Not today, please. Mama has a headache, and Stephan is almost asleep. Go torture each other elsewhere."

The girls eyed one another for several moments, then disappeared in the direction of the rose garden, most likely to bicker over which rose bush was prettiest, or which bloom larger. Half the time they got along like sisters. The other like mortal enemies, though it was usually Charlotte who started the name calling or hair pulling.

Erik's only breath of relief had been to have a son amidst a sea of females. Currently he was out of sight, presumably working on a new adventure for Blackberry Cole, who he had assured us (again) would die mortally by the sword. Each book was a new death for the beloved character, who Erik stated that he loathed. He'd never quite grasped why people seemed to love such a flawed series. They were fluff, drivel. Not worth his time, and certainly would never put Erik Chartraine's name down in history.

And they were also his best selling novels, mostly to the English and Americans.

"How is he feeling?" I asked, lifting a hand to slightly curling, dark brown hair.

"I think his stomach is upset," Eva said mildly. "He's vomited on me no less than three times this morning. I'm thinking of handing him off to his father. Erik just _loves_ that sort of thing."

"I'll take him," I offered cheerfully.

She laid Stephan in my arms, and I knew pure, instant joy. Erik's first son, and the bane of my existence. I regretted my entire life when I held him. Not only the hospital. I would always regret that I had wasted a year of my life there. But the preceding years where I was married to a cruel man, and the years after I spent in fear of him finding me again.

I was still married to him. That fact had recently become a thorn in my side. A growing, festering sore that had threatened to burst multiple times. Mostly due to this little child in my arms.

I would never know this. _This_. The joy of a child. I wasn't even certain if I could conceive, a thought I had put in the back of my mind, willing myself never to remember. Victor Clarke had given us all random doses of a drug he'd told us would kill any living thing inside our bodies. He hadn't wanted to explain babies that his guards planted inside of us. I had no idea if those effects were permanent or not, but I was more fearful that I would never have the chance to find out.

I wanted what Erik and Eva had. The grand madness of love. The thrill of their marriage, and the comfort of their children. I had, on more than one occasion, been talking with Eva and turned my back for a moment, only to discover myself alone in the room.

Such was Erik's house, and I had quickly found out that I was never meant to search for her. It wasn't a game of hide and seek. More like...ah...well, perhaps I won't say it, but it was more a game for them than for me anyway. I would have given nearly anything for a man to look at me the way he looked at her.

One man in particular...but I've long since given up on Raoul de Chagny. He's been seen in society's papers with the all too beautiful Jacqueline Pochet, and I, the _voluptuous_ (happily fat, or at least plumper than three years ago) chaperon, have devoted myself to eating bon bons and scorning his every move.

His every smile. His...well...I don't hate him. But I really,_ really_ want to. I'd decided that everyone needed a mortal enemy, and since I would never meet Jacqueline Pochet, Raoul would do just fine.

Erik and Eva offered sympathetic smiles every time I said something demeaning to him. They knew how I truly felt – knew who I really was. The daughter of a baron, who had to hide her true identity for fear of a deranged husband. They knew that I really wanted to be that girl in a moonlit hallway, dancing with a handsome young man. That one day I'd have a man pledge his undying love and devotion to me, and I'd find myself married with three children of my own. Forgoing a life of chaperon for that of a slightly mad, but lovable wife.

I hoped that wherever Blaise currently resided, he had a copy of Erik's book on the hospital: _A Chemically Altered Mind. _It was wordplay on Salpetriere being a former factory for gunpowder. Erik had humiliated Alencon, and about twelve other physicians including Blaise and the now deceased Victor. Both Bicetre and Salpetriere had changed hands – the reins going to another superintendent, who was hopefully doing a better job than those previous. He'd also challenged the role of the government, and they'd been more than a little displeased that they could not uncover the identity of it's author. It had been brilliant on the part of his publishers to send it out in Dijon, Marseilles, Rouen, and Orleans. Paris government had been unable to stop it after that, and there were patients in those hospitals from all across France. People had been outraged, and the city had been in turmoil over the fate of the hospitals ever since. Even some of the asylums not mentioned in the book had been criticized.

Erik had shaken the foundation, and left the government to repair the damage. I knew he would undoubtedly see it as his single greatest accomplishment. Literary wise, of course, even if it was anonymous.

I held his true greatest accomplishment – Stephen – though I knew he loved Charlotte equally, as he did Amber. And his wife – ah – how he loved his wife.

I could only hope one day that I was loved so well.

- -

I gritted my teeth as I stared across Erik's lawn. This was the second time this week that _he'd_ been here, and it was only a Wednesday. It wasn't fair - just absolutely _not fair_! Raoul de Chagny could come into my home (Erik's home, technically), riding up the stone path on his white (grayish - whitish - blackish) stallion, wearing a blue coat that matched his eyes, and send my heart into overdrive. Damn the man. I really did wish that I hated him. Erik said that his mistress had thrown him over, and that was why he was visiting more often these days. Far too often in my opinion, and it's the only one that should matter.

No one else seemed to mind that he'd once again become a frequent visitor. I had hoped that with the arrival of Stephan three months ago he would stay away - there had always been a strange look in his eyes when Eva had come into the room, her stomach protruding out at monstrous proportions. He'd been highly uncomfortable around her, and given the chance he would flee a room with her in it. I should know - I tried to stick to her like glue when she was in her final months during his visits. Where she was - Raoul simply _wasn't._

On this warm March afternoon, he'd decided for some reason to come directly to where I was reading in the garden - rather innocently - and stare down at me.

"Madame Chartraine," he greeted, as always. _Very_ polite. Nothing untoward in his greeting. "Have you seen Erik?"

To which (and I try honestly to be nice sometimes, but can't) I replied, "Do I look like Erik's keeper?"

It immediately elicited a scowl on his face, which I'd always rather liked. I had to admit that having a mistress had changed him. He'd relaxed, been nicer to everyone around him - except me, and grown more comfortable in his skin. As odd as that sounds. But he'd just stopped being an uptight little aristocrat. Like all the ones my father had always been friends with. I'd always envisioned Raoul as turning into a man like my father. Boring, brooding, and far too uptight for any sort of fun.

"You are, as always, a great help," he muttered, then shifted his weight slightly.

I was surprised that he didn't storm off. Pleasantly surprised, and he crouched down next to me on the grass. Several times in the last couple of years he had tried to apologize for his behavior. Apologize for what he'd said about me three years ago. Apologize for being an utter and complete ass during the time I'd been snowed in with him. And I'd always loathed those attempts. I didn't want - or need - him to apologize to me. I rather liked behaving beastly towards him. If he ever succeeded in apologizing he would likely forget I ever existed.

Yes - it was much better to irritate him. It was the only attention I received from him, and he was the only man I ever conversed with besides Erik or Zachary.

"May I ask what you are reading, or will I regret it?"

I smiled, and flashed the cover.

"Oh. And...uh...what is _The Agony of Romance_ about?" he questioned, with a calmer expression than I might have thought possible.

"It's rather naughty," I stated. "Are you sure you would like to know?"

I did enjoy shocking him. Oh, how I enjoyed it! His ears turned a delightful shade of red, and he managed to look properly chastised for being nosy. Most of the time he was curt with me. He didn't bother speaking with me beyond the formal address, and perhaps (if I was lucky) a polite farewell. But sometimes...just sometimes...I could make him positively furious.

When Stephan was born, some three months ago, I'd left Erik's for the first time. Eva had pleaded with me that she needed a break, until I had ultimately relented, and gone to stay with Raoul as a chaperon to Charlotte and Amber.

It had been a dreadful...dreadful mistake.

Those two girls had gotten themselves into quite a pickle. And me in the process. I'd been reading (innocently, of course), in the library when he had stormed in and demanded why I had felt the need to cut his hair. Why he decided that I was at fault, I would never understand. But seeing the terrified faces of two little girls hiding behind a door, I'd gotten an idea of the true culprits, though I had taken the blame.

Why not? He didn't like me anyway...and it _was_ just hair. It would grow back - in time. It was almost as long as it had been...except for a slight patch above his temple, which didn't look quite right. Still, that might have been the shade, or the light, depending on how you were currently looking at his head. Erik had gotten quite a laugh out of it, and Eva as well. Imagining him running around with half of his hair cut out. He'd looked very similar to me before mine had grown completely in.

Miraculously he hadn't tattled on me. He'd merely brought the girls home in a less than pleasant mood, wearing a hat that effectively covered up his bald spot(s). And if he didn't quite look at me or speak to me for several weeks after that, it was purely coincidence. Right?

I still wasn't sure how those two had managed to cut his hair while he was asleep. I greatly suspected he'd been a little hungover, but who am I to judge?

"Ah, no," he finally decided, still staring at the book. "I believe I might like to find Erik now."

"You do that," I said sweetly, then settled back to pretend to read.

What I was really doing, of course, was watching him storm away. He always looked more handsome when he was storming.

- -

Some of you may be wondering about the ages of the two girls. Well, if my other story had gone on another two months (in the story) then Charlotte and Amber would have had a birthday (their 6th) in February. This story is in March three years later. If you're still confused, let me know. I will try to explain better. Let me know about typos. I did this at work.


	9. Some Reason

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

"Lacey is reading a naughty book," I announced as I strode through the library doors.

Erik didn't really look up at first, though I thought I detected his mouth tighten, just a little. "Oh? Which one?"

I sat down and merely stared at him until he'd given up on whatever he'd been reading. "_The Agony of Romance_. Might I ask what it is about? I rather feared asking her."

He grimaced slightly, leaning back in his chair. "Ah...it's about two women who fall in love."

"Oh. Well that doesn't sound so naughty."

"With each other," he said, enunciating slowly as he stared down at his wedding band.

"Oo-oh."

"Indeed." Erik glanced around the room for a moment, as if to ensure that we were alone. "I bought a mountain of books that were going to be seized from my publishers several years ago. It...and several others like it were among the...contraband."

"And you just have this sort of thing...lying around?" I asked, glancing around the circular library with a little more interest.

"Ninth shelf, between _Where all Roads Lead _and the _History of Paris,_" he said absently. "I had no idea she was anything of a reader."

"Yes, the only thing I've ever seen hold her attention was a cookie," I said dryly, thinking she was looking much better now that she'd finally gained some weight. Her cheeks were rounder, hips were rounder. She was...round. But not overly much. Not anymore than Jacqueline, really. Actually...she was rougly the same size and shape as Jacqueline. I nearly sighed, just thinking about my former mistress...ah...lover. She _really_ hated the term mistress, and as I'd never paid a single one of her bills except for a very sheer, and very...barely there nightgown, I had no right to call her such a thing.

"Might I ask the reason for your visit, or were you simply coming to inform me of her misdeeds?"

I removed a thick document from my coat and handed it to him. After several moments of reading, his eyes narrowed. "I trust you will explain this," he said patiently, setting it to the side. "I'm not aware that nine year olds can hold deeds to houses."

"Yes, well. Your name is on it too."

"_Why_ did you give my daughter a house?"

"It's been hers. I just had to pay off some debt first," I grumbled. "My father had the estates mortgaged. It's taken awhile, but I've managed to climb out from underneath it."

He merely stared, then glanced at the document, then stared more.

"I don't want the house," I blurted out. "I do not want to travel to _Nice_. I do not want to go _inside_ the house. There is still a caretaker tending to the place, so all you have to do is pay their salary. I'm sure you can afford it. Charlotte was adamant three years ago that I didn't sell it. Now the choice is yours. And hers."

"This is the house she was raised in?" he questioned, looking more closely at the property entails.

"Yes. And it's quite valuable."

"Then you must allow me to purchase it," Erik said, moving aside some things on his desk, obviously searching for a checkbook.

"No._ No_," I said firmly. "This isn't a gift for you. It's for Charlotte. And not really a gift...more of an inheritance. I just want it off my hands. It's paid for this month. It's done, and I'm eager to unload it."

"Very well," he finally sighed. "But this will remain a secret until she's older. I couldn't tolerate her holding this over our heads every day for the next ten years. She already believes she controls all of France."

"I'm also wondering if I could take her with me. Just for a few days. I have cousins coming in for the weekend and they have a daughter just a little older than Charlotte. I think it would be good for her to have someone her age to play with. Amber may come along as well."

"Ah...not Amber," he said quickly, then smiled for some reason. "You may take Charlotte. And Lacey, of course."

I paused, truly not having considered_ this_ possibility. "I thought she had refused to leave your estate."

"She has been showing a greater urge to leave. I think...well...never mind. I just think she wants to get away from here sometimes."

Erik always stopped himself from revealing anything about her. His 'I thinks' with Lacey always preceded his 'never minds'. His eyes followed my hand as I reached up to smooth a chunk of hair that was surely sticking straight out, and he bit his lip to stop laughter. I wondered if she had given_ him _a reason why she'd cut my hair. She certainly hadn't offered me more than an 'oops.'

"Very well," I said, somewhat flatly. I refused to say anything else about her anymore that might be construed mean or hateful. I'd never gotten to apologize to her for my words when I'd first met her. She grew a sharp tongue, and drew a cloak around her filled with porcupine needles, waiting patiently for me to step into range. "If she _must _come. I'll also be hosting a dinner party. Please...ah...never mind."

It wouldn't matter if I begged him to speak with her. She'd do something atrocious, and raise some sort of fuss. I wouldn't be embarrassed – there was little she could do to me, other than whacking off my hair again. I feared more for her, because around other people she could be sweet and charming, if a little too bold. Not everyone appreciated her often ribald humor. Sometimes not even Erik. It amazed me that after what I knew she had endured, she could be as carefree as she often seemed.

Somewhere though – lurked a twisted sense of humor.

I'd just have to remember to keep by bedroom door locked. There was no telling what I'd wake up with next time.

- -

"Now, Raoul, could you explain again how the child is related to you?" My cousin Marisa murmured, staring after Charlotte as she climbed the stairs. "I thought you were Christine's only husband."

The lie, created after Christine's death slipped easily past. "Ah, she was married to another man, and he died but days after their wedding. It was a tragedy. I married her shortly thereafter."

Marisa nodded sagely, as if yes, it was a tragedy. Having met Christine twice, she had no idea what my wife had been like. Merely what she read in the papers, or heard from gossip among friends. She could think whatever she wanted. As long as she understood that Charlotte was as firmly in my life as I was in hers. My daughter...I sigh, because I still think of her as such...is going to always be accepted by me.

"And she lives with...?"

"Her father's family," I said smoothly. "And now, dear Cousin, I beg you to go over this guest list one last time. Is there anything wrong with it?"

Marisa took her spectacles from her reticule and dutifully read over the names. "Jacqueline Pochet? Raoul, are you sure you wish to invite her? People will talk..."

"Let them talk. She is my friend," I said coolly.

"This menu is deplorable," she murmured. "I shall have a conversation with your chef. Where is the kitchen again?"

I showed her the proper door, then turned with a serious expression to her far too somber daughter. "I cannot believe your mother knows anything about food."

Kate giggled, and opened her arms for a hug. I didn't like her mother much, but the daughter was a clever delight. She was far sweeter than Amber or Charlotte put together, mostly because her mother wasn't very nice to her.

"Why haven't you gone upstairs? Charlotte will be eager to see you."

"No she won't, but it was nice of you to say so," Kate replied solemnly. "Mother said there would be _two _girls here."

"Hmmm, I seem to have misplaced one," I said regrettably, earning another bout of giggles. I'd intended for Amber to come along, thinking those two would do better together than the Charlotte - Kate combination. "But perhaps next time Charlotte's step-sister may join her."

I winced, wondering how to explain that one. With two parents supposedly dead, that wasn't really possible. Oh well. I would think of something if I needed to. Perhaps a mistress's daughter or something. These lies grew complicated, and made me weary.

"But there is a perfectly nice chaperon upstairs. Her name is Lacey, and I guarantee you that she will be entertaining." In some way – and hopefully with a great deal of decorum. Marisa would need to be kept away from Lacey. I highly doubted that the two would get along, and Lacey was not known for accepting insults lightly. And Marisa's husband, Leopold as well. He was a jackass, and I couldn't tolerate him but in small doses.

I was thankful this was only a weekend arrangement. My father had stressed the importance of keeping in touch with family. Except for an elderly Aunt that wasn't really suitable for anything more than dying at this point I had three distant cousins that I occasionally invited to dinner parties. This one had been arranged with the sole purpose of bringing Jacqueline to my home, and hopefully back to my bed, though I highly doubted she would allow it.

Still – I had a feeling this party was not going to go _quite_ as I had planned.

For _some_ reason.


	10. No Stray Tears

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Watching Charlotte interact with Kate was somewhat amusing. For all Charlotte's occasional snide remarks, they seemed to bounce off the older girl quite easily. And when Charlotte informed her that she would not be sharing any of her toys, it was met with a disdainful shrug, and Kate had returned to studying a collection of bugs that her father had gathered for her, and using some sort of scientific book to cross reference them.

Then Charlotte's interest was piqued, and Kate seemed delighted that for once she was the center of attention. As an older girl (of eleven), she was simply far more interesting than playing with boring dolls. I suspected that in a few years Kate would come into her own - right now she rather resembled one of her stick bugs, the poor girl. All arms and legs, incredibly thin, and with darker features than I thought possible for any of the golden and oh so beautiful de Chagny's.

Charlotte and I have a bit of an understanding when I am forced to accompany her anywhere. Not that it occurs all that frequently, but she goes with me whenever I take Amber to see Zachary, and the occasional stop here, which I always pretend to dread. In truth I love it here, but Raoul never needs to know that. Nor does Charlotte. And when Charlotte and I are forced in each other's company, she tries to cause as little mischief as possible and I ignore most of the things she does. Often for the simple price of her dessert. I'm wicked, I know. But as long as she isn't caught, and I'm not looked at with arched brows for taking two servings of anything chocolate, I see no harm in overlooking most of her peculiar antics.

That has worked most of the time - with one very startling exception. This time I warned the housekeeper to confiscate all scissors. And I'd been informed with a haughty look that Monsieur de Chagny had already made the suggestion, and his orders had been followed.

I was staying out of everyone's way, naturally, the way all chaperons are supposed to do, when a stiff and all too proper lady came into the room where the girls were playing. I immediately noticed a faint resemblance to Kate, but being a lady (secretly) myself, I did not feel an overwhelming tendency to surge to my feet and simper like a mad cow.

"You are the chaperon?" the woman asked, her eyes raking over me slowly.

I grunted in response, resuming my reading and hoping she would go away. That was when Raoul followed her into the room, his eyes immediately taking on a desperately fatal expression.

"We are in need of an extra lady at the dinner table," she said, her tone indicating she was not pleased. "I will expect you to be present...and...why aren't you standing up? I have entered a room, and you must show me proper respect! I demand it!"

I raised a somewhat belligerent gaze to hers. "You demand, my lady?" I drawled.

Kate and Charlotte across the room immediately stopped what they were doing and stared at us. Kate's expression one of utter sympathy. She need not have felt sorry for me. It was, after all, her mother.

"Marisa, this is Lacey," Raoul said, introducing us as if we might have both been servants.

I noticed from her expression that she did not look at all pleased, and I rose promptly to my feet and opened my mouth wide.

"What is she doing?" Marisa asked, staring at me.

"I am offering myself for your inspection," I said with an innocent look. Behind Marisa, Raoul was gazing off vacantly at a wall. "As a guest of somewhat lower standards than you are used to, I would expect you to assure yourself of my suitability."

"Hmmm," Marisa said, and actually seemed to inspect my teeth a little closer. "You do have them all. That shall do, I believe."

I promptly closed my mouth, then glanced over to Raoul who looked to be hiding a smile. "I am sorry, but I must decline your invitation. I prefer to remain here with the girls."

"You can't - "

"I can," I interrupted swiftly. "Monsieur de Chagny does not pay my salary. I may do as I please."

"Oh! Raoul, you must do something!" she said furiously. "We cannot have uneven numbers for dinner! It's simply deplorable!"

"It isn't for the party, Lacey," he said quietly. "It is an invitation for tonight. Just myself, and my two dear cousins. Surely you could accompany us to dinner, without too much fuss. My cousin is very particular about having an even number of both men and women." He shot her a deranged look behind her back, then said with a sigh. "Even if it is just a _family_ dinner."

I felt myself want to turn red for protesting so much, but would not give his ill bred cousin the chance to watch me squirm. I had no doubts that as far as the chain of command went, she was actually lower than I in social order. My father had been a very popular man. Most of them with such straight laces were. Of course I could never reveal this, so I gritted my teeth and smiled politely.

"If you want me to join you for dinner," I said cattily, looking at Raoul, "all you have to do is ask."

I made it sound far more personal than it should have – the first advance I had ever made for him. Luckily he believed it in jest, as was my intent. "Oh precious chaperon," he said with a slightly mocking smile, "how may I persuade you to dine with my favorite cousins and I?"

Marisa was not amused by his comment, and it had nothing to do with his blatant lie about his affection towards her. More to do with the banter he'd come equipped with.

"Oh dear Vicomte," I countered enthusiastically, earning a giggle from two girls behind me. Marisa snorted and left, so I ended my tirade with a somewhat disappointing, "I'll be there. Now leave me alone. And next time you want something, ask yourself." I lowered my voice and whispered, "Don't send a witch like that up here. She might return somewhat less composed next time."

"I'm wounded." He placed a hand over his heart, "Marisa is my favorite cousin. How could you say such a thing? The lady is above reproach."

I snorted and rolled my eyes, stepping away from the heat he'd given off, standing suddenly close. He caught my arm for a moment, inclining his head towards the open door.

"I would like to speak with you," he murmured. "Away from...little ears."

"Look," I said impatiently as he began to drag me out into the hall. "Erik has already given me a speech on behaving. Not that I really listened, but I got the message. I'm not going to embarrass you around your family. So long as they don't speak directly to me."

"Are you finished?" he asked, firmly closing the door.

"Ah...no."

Raoul rubbed his face, a sure sigh of frustration.

"You always do that when you're angry," I stated.

"Do what?" he asked impatiently.

"Rub your face." I demonstrated, albeit a with a little more dramaticism than he frequently displayed. "You're as regular as a stallion who flags his tail after he's mated."

"Good God, woman!" he bellowed. "Is there no limit to what you will discuss?"

I pondered this for a moment, then grinned at him. "Not really, no."

He sighed again, raised a hand to rub his face then dropped it with a scowl. "You were about to say something before."

"I was?" I asked, puzzled. "When?"

"Before you – " Raoul gritted his teeth, then rubbed his face anyway. "Never mind. I wasn't bringing you out here to lecture you. I wanted to ask you something."

My heart tripped before my brain thought its way through the question. He'd wanted to ask me several things – several times over the last three years. Never...not once they been something I remotely wanted to answer. I always felt a constant flutter...a _tingle _around him. I was simply aware of the man, and I had long since given up fighting it. I was attracted to him. There was nothing I could do about it, except avoid him at all costs and never – never let him know it.

"Yes?" I inquired, proud of my steady tone.

"Have Charlotte and Kate been getting along?"

"Oh. Of course," I answered, somewhat disappointed. A lot disappointed. "Very well actually."

"Good," he grunted, stepping away from the door. He didn't seem to notice it was closer to me, nor did he pay significant attention when I stepped back. "I didn't want Charlotte to dominate her. Kate can be a little shy around new people."

_You're a good father, I wanted to say. A sweet man, for having concern about your shy little cousin. Oh, and you're handsome, and please, oh please kiss me – just once. Please - just once._

I didn't say any such thing, melted though I was by his sincerity. "Well, I should attend to them now, so that I can get prepared for your family dinner," I said quietly, stepping around him towards the door.

The damn man didn't move, just stood there staring.

"The invitations have already been sent," he blurted out.

"Excuse me?"

"For the dinner party. I wasn't expecting you to come, otherwise I might have invited another gentleman. Marisa really is obsessed with having an even number of both genders. I wasn't trying to exclude you. It would have been perfectly acceptable for a chaperon to attend – and you are also technically Charlotte's cousin, bound by the story you and Erik created."

I forced a smirk, and told myself I didn't want to attend his party anyway. "Oh, I'm sure you're truly relieved that I won't be there. I would hate to embarrass you in front of your friends. Excuse me."

Raoul didn't stop me as I passed him this time, nor did he correct me or try to dissuade me from believing anything else. Kate and Charlotte were absorbed in a bug collection, which I had firmly and politely denied to see. They didn't look up and see any hint of grief on my face, or any trembling of lips, or a stray tear that might have escaped.

If they had looked, they still wouldn't have seen them.

Because they weren't there.


	11. The Blue Danube

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

I had to admit Lacey composed herself through dinner. Mostly. She used all the proper utensils and didn't chew her food too loudly, much to Marisa's dismay. Lacey could have made my life easier if she'd simply not said anything to Marisa at all. But nooooo. That wasn't in Lacey's nature. She was cut from a different cloth than most people. I didn't complain about it most of the time. However, now she had infuriated my cousin, who I would be spending a great deal of time with over the weekend.

Leopold, as always, said nothing. He had to be one of the most boring men I'd ever met. Dull as dishwater – yet when I looked up occasionally he seemed to be laughing silently at Lacey. Not that she was doing anything extraordinarily wrong. You just simply needed to laugh when you looked at Lacey. Because she herself always was laughing – as if she possessed a great secret – and it was one she would not share.

I often wondered if that mysterious little look in her eyes was something she'd done to me, while I'd been unaware. Like spit in my tea, or put salt in my coffee. I'd never tasted anything wrong with any of my beverages – but one could not ignore that impish delight on her face. I still wasn't quite certain what I'd done to deserve having my hair cut while I had been intoxicated. The birth of little Stephan had not inspired much joy in my day, resulting in me downing half a bottle of whiskey. Waking up minus half of the hair I'd gone to bed with was not really my idea of fun either.

After dinner? Well, there was considerable less politeness on the part of Marisa, and subsequently Lacey lost her temper but saved her dignity by merely stalking out instead of staying for insults and coffee. I'd dismissed myself shortly after, recalling a sudden pressing engagement with Charlotte practicing piano that just couldn't be ignored.

Charlotte was sitting patiently at the bench, leafing through a book and trying to decide on a song. Not that she needed notes in front of her while she played. It was merely childish indecision, and the inability to decide on a composer. I knew that she was splendid at piano. After only three years of lessons, she was well on her way to outdoing Erik in that regard. He spent hours with her every day at the piano, violin, and various other instruments that she was enthralled with. He'd even taught himself the harp (which he assured me was not a masculine instrument) so that he could teach it to her.

"Oh, hello," she said politely, looking up at me. "Did you come to listen?"

"As always," I murmured, leaning against the wall. "Have you chosen something yet?"

She shook her head, frowning slightly. "You need more music. I don't like any of these."

I glanced down. "Mozart, Handel, Vivaldi." Moving more pieces aside, "Bach, Chopin, Strauss. Charlotte, these are all considered masterpieces."

"Papa says they're over done," she said, snatching the pages from my hand. "He doesn't ever play any of these. I wish I had some of his music."

"_The Blue Danube_ is now the most famous song for waltzing," I informed her, pointing to a sheet of Strauss Jr.

Her wary little glance stated that she was not impressed. "I somehow doubt that."

"Has anyone ever danced to your music?" I prodded. She shook her head vehemently, but still didn't look any more convinced. "I would be honored to dance while you accompanied me. Alas, I have no partner."

She giggled, then pointed behind her. Half the music room being dark, I hadn't seen the lone figure sitting quietly near the window, staring out onto the lawn. "Lacey can dance with you."

I heard a little grunt from across the room.

"Oh Charlotte. I doubt very much that Lacey knows how to dance." I knew this to be false, because I'd heard her talking about dancing one day at Erik's. She'd said that for all her training (whatever that meant), she'd wasted far too much of her life devoted to something she would never be able to use. And I also knew just what combination of her buttons to push. I figured I had one more keystroke, then she'd be entrapped. "Most especially not something as complicated as a _waltz_."

"That is not true," Lacey protested hotly. "I happen to be a very...very good dancer. Don't you ever say such a thing to me!"

Within two seconds she was across the room, her blue eyes on fire and cheeks flaming. I half feared that she would actually attack me with such a wild look in her eyes. I hadn't known she would become so upset though. Beneath all her bluster and anger, sometimes I saw a mountain of sadness in her gaze. That was why I tolerated Lacey so well. That was why I often found myself thinking that I might actually like her. Most of the time I was rather fond of her, despite the things she said to provoke me. I'd never found a way to delve beneath her prickly shield. Merely looking at her sometimes was enough to nettle her.

I had no idea what (else) I'd done to earn such contempt. Any and all apologies were canceled before they left my mouth, met with such scorn that long ago I had given up trying. I not only had insulted her by calling her cracked, and unintelligent, I'd also been angry with myself during the time I'd been trapped with her at Erik's. I had been upset that I'd nearly gotten Eva hurt, and I'd taken it out on her. She'd never deserved a moment of my wrath. Not once.

Especially after what I had seen on my brief visit to Salpetriere. I never said anything anymore about her mental health, or whether or not I thought she was good enough for Charlotte or not. I remembered those beds, and all I had seen, and I simply closed off inside. I remembered her husband, and wished I had taken the opportunity and killed him. Sometimes I wanted to pry beneath, and see if her cheerfulness was all a front. If inside she was really as bitter as Rebbecca, and frightened. If she cried when she was alone. If she suffered from nightmares, and if the thought of her husband made her ill.

But I never asked. Doing so would likely hurt her, and that had always been the last thing I wanted. Sometimes, though, it was fun to poke at her the way she did me.

"You will have to excuse me, Madame," I said, somewhat blandly. "I've seen you walk. I have my doubts about your ability to dance."

"Charlotte, play the damned song," she snapped.

With a mocking smile I extended one hand. Her anger faltered, and I feared that I had frightened her. She looked positively terrified to take my hand, and I could only wonder what horrors she'd faced inside that hospital. I realized now that she had probably never been this close to a man since she'd left, and panic began to rise inside of me.

"I won't hurt you," I said cautiously, already worried that I had gone too far. "If it's too much to ask, then I shall withdraw my challenge."

"No," she said, biting her lip, but her eyes were trained on my hand still. "I...I just need a moment."

Slowly my hand dropped, and I waited patiently for her to decide. Charlotte was staring at us both, one eyebrow raised, clearly not understanding a great deal about what was happening. "Well?" she asked, tapping the keys as a reminder.

"Yes," Lacey whispered, but slammed her eyes shut. "You may begin."

It was the most vulnerable I had ever seen her. She tensed as I put my arms around her, not breathing, not smiling. Not looking at me. Charlotte cued us, then we were moving effortlessly around the room. If she relaxed more, she would be a better dancer. If she opened her eyes, she might have discovered my expression of concern. I found myself studying her face. Her innocent, beautiful face, and wondering how anyone could ever hurt her.

Marginally I tightened my grip on her, anger coursing through me as I thought of her husband. Abandoning her to those guards...leaving her body to waste away. She'd likely been this curvy before she'd gone inside. It suited her. She fit perfectly against me, just as well as Jacqueline, who had always enjoyed a rather lush figure. But Lacey wasn't heavy. Her face was interesting, her cheeks full. Lips sweetly curved, rather made for kissing. My hand fit against her back, easily holding her as we crossed the room.

"See, Charlotte," I called, diverting my attention (and Lacey's) away from disturbing thoughts. Kissable lips? Not Lacey. "This song is perfect for the waltz. Don't you agree, Lacey?"

"It suits," she muttered, her eyes still shut.

"Do you prefer one song over another?" I asked softly, letting the music fall around us. I guided her into the shadows of the music room, then back into the light again. Her lips parted slightly, and she peeked out at me for a moment.

"Don't ruin this for me by talking," she replied curtly. "I would find it rather more enjoyable if you'd just shut up."

I kept silent, staring down at her. She relaxed against me, and we began to move as one. I liked the fact that she simply allowed me to lead. I turned left, and she was pliant. I stalked, and she fell back. She was one of the least clumsy women I had ever danced with, and one of the more willing partners, because she never tried to control where we went. It was surprising, and refreshing, and before it ended I knew I wanted to dance with her again.

The song faded, and her eyes remained closed. She made a sound of annoyance as we stopped, and I half expected her to stamp her foot in frustration.

"Play another," I ordered Charlotte.

Lacey's eyes opened once more, and she gave me the warmest of smiles. For some reason, I felt it all the way to my toes.


	12. Our Last Dance

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

The moon was streaming through one side of the music room, and he slowly took my hand into his again. Our blue eyes met in the shadowed light, darkness encompassing each half our faces. I closed my eyes suddenly, hoping he could not see each fear in my mind. Hoping he didn't see the past...the last time we had danced. The first time we had met. I couldn't stop my wistful smile though. It crept upon my face like a curse, and held there, though I refused to open my eyes as we danced in time to the music.

Charlotte was a genius at the piano. A nine year old prodigy, every bit as excellent as her father, and I paid no mind to the beautiful song she had chosen. It was a song Erik wrote for her mother, though not Charlotte's favorite. I wondered if Raoul realized it, but I had my eyes closed and didn't care. I didn't want to see the distaste in his eyes. Or the shape of his lips. I wanted to forget that he didn't like me. That he'd never approved of me. I just knew there was something about me that he simply hated.

So I closed my eyes and pretended it didn't matter. Closed them, and remembered the night he had danced with me when I had been a mere child. An innocent, pure girl, who then had been worthy of his attention. Who had been worth his respect, if not a small amount of affection for being so young, and so clearly worshiping of him. I wondered if he had danced with innumerable girls in hallways behind golden ballrooms. If I was merely one of a thousand, and that was the reason he had never recognized me in three years.

"You dance very well," he commented, his voice barely heard over the raucous thoughts in my mind. "Did you receive a great deal of instruction?"

"I did," I said quietly, wishing he would fall silent again.

"Most women do not close their eyes during a dance, you know."

"Fortunately for you, I am not most women." I opened my eyes slowly, praying that the foolish girl that had come alive had vanished, and he could see nothing of my troubling memories. "We both know that, don't we? Vicomte."

His mouth thinned at my deliberately disrespectful tone, and he edged me out towards the center of the room. I wished I had gotten the chance to dance at a real ball. My father had died before he had the chance to hold one for me, and after that all opportunities had been lost. Doctor's wives did not go to balls. Insane women and chaperons did not go. Perhaps I would when Charlotte was sixteen, in another seven years. Perhaps then, Erik would allow Raoul to give her a proper ball, even if it she was not a true member of the aristocracy.

"You've never forgiven me, have you, Lacey?"

My eyes widened, and I merely stared at him. For what? For marrying a woman when I had wanted to - but no - he didn't know about that. For the first time he had insulted me, in Erik's bedroom three years ago? He had called me immature, questioned my intelligence, as well as my sanity. And at almost every opportunity, I recognized his disapproval of my position as chaperon, though he never said anything.

"I tried to offer my apologies, if you remember. You said they were not wanted, and you have avoided me like a plague every day since," he said softly. "Then you called me - "

"An ass, and an unscrupulous swine," I said sweetly. "Yes, I remember everything, dear Vicomte."

"That is a title. _Not_ my name," he informed me, his voice edged with anger. "And forgive me for drawing context clues on the state of your mind, Madame. You _were_ a resident of that institution. You behaved...still behave...in a manner more befitting a child than a woman. And for some reason - at the time - you had cut off nearly all your hair. Not to mention mine. That speaks to me of..._ooof!"_

I smiled in satisfaction as I felt his toes crunch beneath my foot. "I had _lice_, if you _must_ know. And you will never make me feel ashamed for where I was. Never," I said, my voice lowering so that I did not shriek at him. "When you have lost your dignity, _Vicomte_, then you may tell me what manner is proper for my behavior. W-when you have been r-raped, you may tell me what you _wish_. But..."

I stopped, choking on tears and wrenched my wrist from the grasp he tried to hold me with. His eyes had darkened with anger, but I did not care to see more. My dance...my fairytale prince was not real. He had never been real, and all he could be to me was cruel.

"Lacey, wait!" he called out, my heart churning at his desperate tone.

What reason would he have for sounding upset? He wasn't the one with a broken heart. He wasn't ever going to know how much I wanted to forget that hospital – how much I dreaded the nights, and needed the light. I needed to be strong. I could never let go of the rigid control I had over those memories. To release them would be giving in. Falling under the black spell, and indulging in the darkness of my mind.

I was not that sort of person, and had never wanted to be. But I couldn't be normal either. I was _this_. This person, who had to keep my life a little mad, otherwise I might well and truly join the ranks of the demented.

Charlotte stopped playing as I fled the room, and I could hear the echoes of a refrain inside the almost empty music room. But I did not cry. Not until I reached my room, and I could indulge like the child that he had called me.

- -

For the last three years I have abhorred beds. I have refused to lie in one again, and cannot even stand to sleep in the same room with an assembled bed. It is far too hard, when I had been tied to one nearly every day of my life in Salpetriere. And sometimes even while I lived with Blaise. He called it keeping me away from the trough, and he'd done it to make me thin.

Except for one encounter at Erik's well over three years ago, when he had tripped across me on the stairs, I have never been disturbed during my sleep. Erik provided me with an adequate room on the second floor of his home, which included everything except for a bed. This was my second time to stay the night at the de Chagny estate, and I had already canvassed the house for a room to sleep in. I'd considered the nursery, and been informed that Raoul often visited James during the night. The parlor was too open, and his study remained locked, so I decided ultimately upon the library.

I hadn't been disturbed there last time, and didn't really consider it a bad choice. It had doors, which locked, but not wanting to throw suspicion on myself I left them unattended. I could always claim to have drifted off (not that I could explain the pillow and coverlet) on the chaise, and no one would know any better.

So I did my crying in my room, helped a bewildered Charlotte settle in for the night, then set off to wait until everyone had gone to sleep. The library wasn't really used much here. I'd never pictured Raoul as much of a reader. Marisa didn't seem all that bright, and Leopold the Dull wasn't likely to stay up past the grand hour of eleven in any case. The most I worried about was a maid informing someone I'd spent a night in the library. No one would find that extremely odd. Maybe odd if Marisa did it, or someone like her. But not me.

I was simply odd, so I highly doubted anyone would care what I did. Especially Raoul de Chagny. With a sigh, and a few more tears (only a few) I settled back on his couch and closed my eyes, only wanting to forget that dreadful, fated dance.

Only wanting to remember it forever, and remember the way he had smelled. The way his muscular arms had made me feel safe. Or just maybe I would just remember it the rest of my life.

Our first dance ten years ago...and our last dance tonight. It seemed tragic somehow that I was the only one of us clued in on that fact.


	13. Snip Snip

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

There were certain times in my life I wanted to crawl into a bottle, and never come out of it. Tonight was one of those times. I had meant to tell Lacey that despite all her quirks, that I honestly liked her. That I found her charming, and refreshing. That I had never meant to hurt her, and I'd said those things before I had known her. I had only known that she was from an institution...nothing more. I'd said what I had before I'd seen what she'd lived through.

And now every time I thought about how I'd never gotten to apologize, I felt deeply ashamed of myself. She was a bright, sweet girl. And yes – she could act more like a child at times than a woman. She just wasn't like other women. In a good way...God, if I couldn't sort out what she was in my head, I knew I'd never have the tongue to tell her. She was simply Lacey...and in three years I had grown fond of her.

I was angry with myself for hurting her. I never wanted to see that look in her eyes. I certainly didn't want to be the cause of it. Despite everything that Jacqueline taught me about women – I realized I still didn't have any idea how to talk to one – to have an honest conversation anyway. Especially with Lacey. She had the ability to tie my tongue, and say things so shocking I couldn't manage to think of anything suitable to respond with. If Erik heard half the things she said, I doubted he would allow her anywhere near his daughters.

But I didn't really think she said things like that in front of Charlotte. They got along well enough now, though I knew for certain it wasn't any sort of cuddly, affectionate relationship. Lacey treated her with the disdain she might a much younger sister. Still, Charlotte hadn't been pleased with me whenever Lacey had fled from the room sobbing. Whatever feelings they may or may not have for one another, it appeared both of them had taken the same side, and it was against me.

So I found myself doing the only thing a self respecting idiot can do, while he contemplated yet another much needed apology. I headed towards my study, intent on crawling at least halfway into a bottle. I'd given up sleeping – and there was nothing like rich, dark whiskey to soothe my worries. I knew I couldn't continue this forever. I'd developed quite a habit for drinking late at night. Usually when I was alone, and in the last three months since I'd stopped seeing Jacqueline, it had become far too frequent.

But I needed a drink right now. I passed no one in the quiet house, but it was as I moved through the hall towards my study that I saw the library door slightly open. A fire was blazing inside. Thinking – and half hoping it wasn't Marisa or Leopold, I moved towards the door, merely wanting to look inside.

It was Leopold. Just standing in the center of the room, his arms crossed behind his back as he stared at something. I pushed the door open silently, not wanting to startle him as he took a step forward and began to lean over. One of his hands moved out, inching down a thick blanket that had been draped over the couch, revealing a sleeping Lacey.

I could only stare, apparently as enthralled as Leopold obviously was. In the firelight she was beautiful. Her face without it's constant animation, relaxed into deep slumber. Her blond hair (her own hair this time, and not a wig) was tangled in a mass about her head. He pulled the blanket down even further, revealing her rubenesque figure. I moved forward at the same time his hand was edging back up towards her face, intent on a lock of hair that had trailed across her brow.

"Leo," I growled, my voice rough and angry behind him.

He turned, stunned and blinked at me. "Raoul?"

Lacey murmured in her sleep then rolled over, thankfully unaware of the suddenly hostile atmosphere surrounding her. If she woke now she would undoubtedly be terrified to discover two grown men hovering over her sleeping body. I couldn't put into words what I had felt to discover my cousin's husband standing so near her. I hadn't quite ever felt that much rage surge through me so quickly. It rather felt as if I were going to tear the older man apart. If he didn't get out of my sight soon, it was still a possibility.

"Get out," I said quietly. "Now."

"Raoul, I would never – "

I took a step towards him, intending to throw him out if he didn't leave immediately. God. This was Lacey! Not some coquettish miss he could ogle. Not a servant that he could even so much as think of touching, not that I would allow that sort of thing anyway. I hadn't ever pictured Leopold as the sort of man to do anything untoward against any woman. He seemed devoted to his daughter and far too annoyed by his wife, even if he wasn't quite the most interesting man I'd ever spoken with.

He looked incredibly disturbed, and cast a last regretful look at Lacey. "I was just curious. I..."

"Get out," I repeated, my voice more frigid than an arctic wind. "Don't ever...ever touch her."

I couldn't recall ever wanting to do a man so much violence. Not even Erik when he had taken Christine. I'd been numb with fear. Fearing that he would hurt her. Fearing – the look in his eyes when I had known I'd been tricked. I had believed that he would kill me.

Leopold left, and I took several breaths to calm my heart. I wasn't just angry with him. I was angry with her. Lacey. What in God's name was she doing in here? Sleeping! She was sound asleep, a blanket and pillow which appeared to be from her room providing the only comfort on what I knew was a hard chaise. I should know. I'd slept on it often enough myself when I was too drunk to make it to my room.

I thought about waking her to demand answers from her, but I was far too weary to argue with her again. I leaned down to pull her blanket up to her chin, then thought better of that as well. Besides, it was stifling in here, and she seemed to be sweating just a little anyway.

I left the library cursing beneath my breath as I ventured past the kitchens and rapped on my butler's door. Simon took awhile to answer, apparently one of the lucky ones to be getting any sleep in the house.

"Yes?" he asked once he opened his door, wearing his slippers and a dressing gown. "Oh, Monsieur. How may I be of service? Is something amiss?"

"Madame Chartraine is sleeping in the library," I declared.

He eyed me for a moment, likely wondering how much I'd had to drink.

"I haven't been drinking," I continued with a scowl. "Please send a maid in there to sleep with her. So no one disturbs her."

"I will see to it immediately, Sir," he said without blinking. "Would you like for me to make the same arrangement for tomorrow night, Sir?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"The last time Madame Chartraine spent the evening here, she retired to the library after the house settled down."

Lacey slept in the library? Perhaps she was a closet drinker and passed out as I often did. Or...well, I was really far too tired to think about it now. I was surprised to discover I no longer needed a drink at least. "Ah...have someone inquire if she would like a different room. Let me know what she says."

"I will see that it is done."

"Did you find all the scissors?" I asked suddenly.

"All but one set, I believe," he said, carefully avoiding looking at my hair. "I would...ah...lock your bedroom door tonight, Sir. If I were you."

- -

The library was empty when I checked it the next morning. No blankets or pillows in sight, and no chaperons sleeping therein. Leopold didn't meet my eyes at breakfast, which I had firmly labeled as a family meal. I always ate my meals with Charlotte when she was here, and Marisa had declared last night an adult only dinner, which I had agreed to. Sometimes it was nice to be surrounded by adults. Not that any of the three people who I dined with were choice dinner companions.

So at breakfast Marisa glared at her husband and Lacey. Leopold stared at his plate. Lacey simply wouldn't look at _me_, and Charlotte and Kate ignored us all, embroiled in a conversation about roses and lady beetles.

"We should get some," Charlotte said to me after awhile.

"Pardon me?"

"Lady beetles," she explained. "Kate says they protect your rose bushes. I could get some for...for Mama's roses."

It was rare for Charlotte to mention Christine anymore, so I merely nodded. "If that is your wish."

"Papa says soon Mama's roses will be blooming."

Thankfully she said this to no one in particular, so that I did not have to explain which Papa she referred to. I should have thought a little harder about this meeting, because Charlotte had no idea there was an elaborate lie protecting her legitimacy. I had no roses for Christine. They were Erik's roses. I wondered if Eva secretly wanted to go at them with a pair of pruning shears. I knew they'd been planted long before the two of them had met, but also knew how possessive Eva was of her masked husband.

"I wonder if he'll let me put some lady beetles on them," she mused aloud.

"I'm sure your father will let you do anything, dear," Marisa said absently, destroying a croissant as she caught Leopold glance up at Lacey.

"Lacey, perhaps you could take the girls for a visit out to the gardens today," I said quietly. "They may look at all the rose bushes they want.

Lacey shot me a sly glance, but nodded.

"Papa was very upset when Carlos got out of the hothouse, and he had to chase him all across the lawn right through the roses."

"Really, Raoul. Why did you buy such a loathsome creature for her?" Marisa asked, frowning. "They're disgusting."

"Papa doesn't think so," Charlotte stated.

"Lacey," I gritted out. "Perhaps you could visit the gardens _now_?"

God, the last thing I needed was for Charlotte to blurt out anything in front of Marisa. I didn't want to explain anything to her about Erik. And I certainly didn't want Charlotte to be lied to as well. It had always been my intention to tell her the truth – much later in her life. Right now she had never questioned how her father and I knew one another as related to her mother.

From the look on Lacey's face, I knew that disobeying me was the only thing she wanted to do. But she glanced at Charlotte, then at Marisa's suddenly too interested expression and nodded.

"Come along girls," she sighed. "We will forgo our breakfasts to go look at some plants."

"As if you will die if you miss a meal," Marisa muttered.

The high color on Lacey's cheeks told me she had caught the remark. What amazed me was that she said nothing about it.

"Did you say something?" I asked Marisa loudly. "Something about kissing a seal?"

"Eh?" Marisa looked confused, and I heard Charlotte and Kate snicker. Only Lacey was not amused, her eyes flashing with hatred as she stared down at Marisa's coiffed head.

Behind her back, Lacey held up two fingers and shaped them into a pair of scissors.

With horror, I watched the mocking motion, and prayed that it never came to pass.

_Snip. Snip._


	14. A Nervous Fear

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

The gardens were not interesting. I'd always rather enjoyed being surrounded by flowers and trees, but typical March weather had returned to Paris, and I was freezing. Not that two young girls would notice, but my teeth were chattering so hard I thought I'd lose them. On the inside though – I was quietly simmering. There was nothing like being called fat in front of a man you secretly admired. Maybe it wasn't a simmer. Not even a low saute. I rather thought I could boil over at any moment.

How dare that woman insult me? I might be fuller figured than most woman, but I had worked very hard to cultivate my shape. I didn't want to be a little stick like she was (no offense to Kate, or her future appearance, but unfortunately she would be slender like her mother). I had been that thin – due to supreme starvation. I could remember well the feeling of intense hunger that had eventually grown into a sharp pain. It _hurt_ to starve. It caused all sorts of embarrassing things to happen to your body – and trying to adjust to eating again did as well.

Rebbecca and I had discussed this in great detail. We had shared a rather unfortunate amount of symptoms associated with trying to eat again, and the stomach upsets that it caused.

I wanted to flay into Marisa. I wanted to screech at her – to make her understand that not even she was safe. If Leopold ever decided, she could be in that position as well. He could lock her away forever, and she would never see light again.

Just for spite, I secretly hoped he'd at least handcuff her one day. Or maybe she liked that sort of thing. Who knew?

"Lacey, may we go back in?" Kate asked, and I noticed the cold had finally penetrated to them both. "I didn't finish my breakfast."

"Ah," I sighed happily. "A girl after my own heart. Come along then, and we will see what they have left."

After a much needed breakfast (and seconds, and perhaps another croissant just to hold me over) I entered my room to find the same disgruntled maid I had woken up next to in the library this morning. She hadn't looked at all pleased to have been sleeping in a chair, and I had slipped out without waking her, a little uncertain why she had slept there at all. Since I, in fact, had slept there as well I saw no need to question her.

"Hello," I said cautiously. "I...do you need something?"

Her eyes widened. "No, Madame. I've come to see if you would like a new suite."

"Beg pardon?"

"Monsieur de Chagny would like to know if you want a different suite. Since you were...," she cleared her throat, then stared at the floor, "...sleeping in the library last night."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Tattled on me, did you?"

"No," she whispered, blushing a little. "He had Simon...that's the butler...wake me last night to sleep next to you. So's no one would disturb you."

Drat. I had really liked the library too. "No...no this room is fine. I must have drifted off while I was...er..."

"Reading?" she offered helpfully.

"That would be it," I said dryly, moving to my never slept in bed. I touched the coverlet a moment then turned away, ignoring a nervous flutter that shot through me. "What is it like working for him?" I blurted out.

"For the Vicomte? Oh, he's very nice," she murmured, then smiled. "He's so handsome, isn't he?"

Now this was a line of conversation I could – but would not – pursue.

"He's decent," I shrugged. "I've seen handsomer men."

But not many. When I had first met him he had been a boy. A quiet, polite, handsome boy. Now he was a man – and I knew a little more about him than his manners, and that he had a nice voice and excellent taste in colognes. He dressed differently now as well. I seemed to have recalled him with more flair in the past, and he looked much, much more distinguished with his hair cut short.

"Does he...stay out at night a lot?" I asked, knowing that no matter what casual note I forced into my tone, the question would be interpreted for exactly what it was – fishing.

"Not anymore," she answered with a knowing smile, "unless he goes to Regates. Simon has feared he will drink himself into idiocy one day and never recover."

"He drinks that much?" I frowned, not liking this. "Is he often angry with drink?"

"Oh no," she said firmly. "He...he...I don't think I should say. It's not really something he would want people to know."

I leaped forward and grasped her wrists. "I'll give you twenty francs to say it!"

Her eyes shone with delight, and she blurted out, "He cries."

My heart did an odd tumble inside. Cried? I felt awful now. It wasn't something I really wanted to know about him. I wanted to hate him. Wanted to be constantly angry with him, and believe he was cruel and selfish and mean. I didn't want to know that he cried.

Stripping and running naked about the estate I could have handled. Consorting with Madame Pochet in the dining room I would have wrinkled my nose at. Singing...badly...I would have teased him over.

But crying? My white knight was not supposed to cry. He wasn't supposed to be a tortured soul like me. He was supposed to be a rock – solid and strong – even if he was never _my_ rock.

"My...my father says there are many kinds of drunks," she continued. "Mean ones, annoying ones, and then there are criers. I believe Monsieur de Chagny is somewhat of a combination of the last two."

"He's annoying enough sober," I muttered.

That wasn't really true, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

"He only cries when he drinks?" I persisted.

"As far as I know," she said with a sigh.

I frowned at that. "Why does he cry?"

Her lips clamped shut, and she shrugged. "Is there anything you need, Madame? I have other duties today."

I waved her out of the room - twenty francs richer - and sat down, wondering and knowing possibly that it was his wife. I'd tried my best to believe in the first few months of our acquaintance that she was why he never liked me. That he grieved for her, and wasn't sure how to cope with her loss.

When I'd received a society paper with his picture across the front, accompanying the beautiful Madame Pochet around the theater, I had been crushed. It had felt as if I'd been punched. If he was recovered enough from her death to acquire a mistress, then it meant he hadn't even seen me. Never would see me in that light. Perhaps he didn't like women with large bosoms and curvy waists. I'd stopped fleshing out short of fat rolls, but sometimes I wondered if I'd eat myself into a house dress one day and never fit into a proper gown. It seemed that I was to be slender in some places though. My arms and legs had remained lean, my waist had tucked in at a reasonable shape that looked very nice in some of my dresses, and I didn't have a double chin.

I considered all those things perfect examples of being curvaceous without being fat.

And if Marisa said anything else to me, she was going to be wearing a wig for the next two or three years.

- -

I heard voices out in the hall and stopped reading for a moment. A man and woman. Raoul and someone else. I prayed that it wasn't Marisa because I was certain I couldn't deal with her again. She'd come up here to inform me that the girls (and I) would need to remain completely hidden during the dinner party. As if I didn't already know what my task was.

It was nearly time for their guests to arrive I realized, and I wondered if they would parade the girls out like little soldiers before they went back to their adult games.

Charlotte and Kate were absorbed in an argument over whether or not leprechauns were real. I tried to shush them (so that I could hear), but it was met with a baleful look, then an 'are so' on Charlotte's behalf.

"Really, this is unnecessary," I heard a lady say as the door was pushed open. "I arrived early to see_ you_, as you requested."

"There is plenty of time for that, love," he returned. "I want you to meet Charlotte first."

I didn't catch the look they shared, but that word echoed in my mind. Love. Love. He'd called her his love. I knew immediately who he was bringing inside.

Such a beautiful woman stepped through the door that it made my heart slam shut. _This_ was his mistress. Former mistress...and perhaps again future mistress, if his tone was to be dissected and analyzed. He still wanted her it seemed, very much. And I was – for the first time – wanting to prove myself capable of manners. I stood up as she came into the room, her large bosom (maybe even larger than mine) and tinier waist supporting a scandalously low cut satin blue gown. _Ugh_...it matched his eyes, I thought.

"Jacqueline, this is Lacey Chartraine," he said, his gaze on a spot behind her ear. He placed his hand across her shoulder, his finger subtly stroking that spot, as if he couldn't bear to not touch her. "Charlotte's chaperon."

Blue eyes...we all had blue eyes and blond hair. It was a random, strange thought. Blue eyes and blond hair are common. But I was certain no blue eyes were quite like Jacqueline Pochet's. Hers were warm and kind, if a little nervous as she glanced over to Charlotte and Kate, then back at me.

"It's very nice to meet you," she murmured. "Raoul has spoken frequently about you."

I glanced at him, saw him flush uncomfortably, and knew none of it was pleasant. "Has he?"

I wanted to say something biting. Something that would surely entice a laugh out of the far too pretty mistress, and make Raoul even more uncomfortable. Instead – for the first time – I merely stared, unable to think of anything appropriate to say. He was introducing me to his mistress, and I was quite speechless. I didn't want to sound cruel, or vindictive, or even remotely countrified, which is what I felt standing next to her. So I merely lifted my chin, and smiled.

"Yes, he is always – "

"Ah...Jacqueline," he cut in quickly. "I'd like you to meet Charlotte. Charlotte, come say hello to my friend Jacqueline."

I resisted sticking my tongue out at them both as he passed, watching as Charlotte tightened her mouth and came forward as requested.

"So _this_ is Charlotte," Jacqueline said, with a breathless little sigh. "You're very pretty, darling. Your...Papa Raoul has told me so much about you. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

Oh no! She was reaching out...surely she wouldn't pat Charlotte on the head. The girl absolutely hated that. Amber's father did it to her all the time, and it was something she truly...truly hated.

"Such a pretty thing," Jacqueline continued, then softly touched her hair, as if half afraid. "Yes...yes you are."

"Come on Kate," Charlotte said coldly, taking a step back. "Let's go to _my_ room."

"Charlotte." Raoul lowered his voice, then crossed his arms. "Be polite."

"No, it's alright," Jacqueline said, stepping back. "Let her go."

"But – "

"I said it's alright," Jacqueline interrupted sharply. She spun around for a moment while Raoul continued to badger Charlotte, and I caught a look at her eyes. They were no longer warm and friendly, they were stricken with what looked like utter panic.

Raoul sighed as Charlotte and Kate ran from the room and looked at Jacqueline, an odd expression on his face. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she said tightly, pressing a hand against her stomach.

They seemed to forget I was in the room, and I watched, fascinated and burning with jealousy as he brushed his lips over her temple.

"You don't look fine. Are you ill?"

"I'm not ill," she stated, though it looked to me as if she might vomit. Interesting. I might like to see that...or perhaps not.

"Then what is it?" he prodded.

"Open your eyes, Vicomte! She's uncomfortable around children," I muttered loudly. "Leave her be."

Egads! She started to cry suddenly, and Raoul shot me such a furious look that I instantly retreated from the room, feeling petty and mean. I tried in vain to track down Charlotte, intending to give her a stern talking to about meeting Madame Pochet next time. (Though honestly I thought of it as a major point in my favor, since _I _could tolerate Charlotte – in infrequent and small doses).

But...the dratted child had vanished, taking Miss Kate with her.

- -

I have my plot for this story worked out completely. First there's that one thing I just have to do...then this other thing you're going to laugh at, then a not so funny part, and _maybe_ some sex. Oh...but it's just not all coming together as I hoped. But I'm trying!


	15. Canele, Anyone?

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

Jacqueline sniffled again, brushing away tears in an uncharacteristic display of personal emotion. In two years I'd never seen her cry. She often had cases of doldrums, and there were times when she sent me away, but I'd never seen her cry. It was a little terrifying to discover something so utterly raw about her. I hadn't known there were any subjects in the world she absolutely dreaded – and she'd never, ever said anything about not liking children.

"You must think I'm a complete ninny," she mumbled.

"Never that," I whispered, my anger with Lacey fading a little. Her little comment had sent Jacqueline right into my arms. Right where I had wanted her to be. "I think you're beautiful, and smart. And you know it."

"It's such a stupid thing," she said softly. "I...I've just never quite managed to deal with it."

"You never had any children with your husband," I said quietly.

"With any man," she corrected. "I...I risked it before, you know. Trying, just to see. I always knew it was me, and not Monsieur Pochet. He had children with other women."

I sighed, and fitted my arms more tightly about her. "You should have told me, Jacqui. I would have understood. I never wanted to hurt you."

"They terrify me," she said, burying her nose against my chest. I felt a rush of desire, inhaling her familiar scent, feeling her curves, her beautiful and warm hands firmly against my ribs. "I believe I have made an enemy with Charlotte. Most children sense my...unease. They don't like me. I've tended to avoid them in recent years because of that."

"And I've been pressuring you almost nonstop for the last few months to meet James."

She looked up at me, her lips wobbling. "I'm sorry, Raoul."

I couldn't resist pressing a kiss to her mouth, drinking in all that I had known for two years. She kissed me back – but it wasn't one really of passion, though I would not deny my need for her. It was a kiss of comfort, and one of supreme longing on my part. But I knew her well, and she wasn't clinging to me out of a desperate need to be skin to skin.

She was greatly upset, and needed a distraction.

"Come," I whispered. "I'll let you use the Vicomtess's chambers to refresh yourself."

"Your...your wife's?" she uttered, looking horrified.

"My mother's," I smiled as I led her from the room. I couldn't have lived here if Christine still had a room devoted to her station in my life. That house was in Nice, and now it was Erik's problem. "She's been dead for some time, I doubt she'll mind."

I kissed her one last time before I showed her inside, wondering...wondering if perhaps I might have reacquired my mistress...er...lover. One could only hope.

- -

I'd invited seven people, and including my cousins and myself it brought our dinner party up to a respectable twelve. When my father and grandfather had lived – and the glorious days of being an aristocrat in France actually meant something – there had been state dinners held at our home. We hosted balls, and my mother was fond of the occasional soiree. I had always been a little saddened that my mother had died before she reached thirty. Not because she had been a warm, maternal figure, or because my parents had doted on one another.

But I had known that she'd always wanted to host debutantes, and give social advice to young marriageable girls. I was an only child – a boy no less – a fact which my father had loved and mother had been proud of. I just wasn't a girl, and therefor I wasn't quite as close to her as I'd been with my father.

After their deaths I had taken over control of the estate and found it nearly sinking. I had earned a somewhat mocking reputation in the last few years for drawing my interest out of stocks, and putting them into more tangible pursuits. Like the raising and breeding of superior cattle. Most people couldn't quite fathom me as a cow farmer, and I generally didn't appreciate the term – but the fact was that it was a very productive and profitable enterprise. And I'd never so much as seen the herd – which attested more to my business sense than a fondness for anything bovine - except of course shoes.

My living relatives – Marisa mostly – seemed intent on upholding the family name by being as snobbish as possible to Jacqueline and the rest of the people I had invited. They were all really friends of Jacqueline's, and I was going to assume that at least one of the gentlemen here was the man she purported herself to be in love with. Arianne and Brice Saint-Marc were brother and sister, ruling out Arianne as her dear friend and Brice as the loved husband. I highly doubted that she was in love with Camille du Bourg's husband Eugene because he was a rather toady looking fellow. That left Elise Denevue's husband Sebastian, and as Elise was her dearest friend, and Sebastian cut Jacqueline down at every opportunity, and me as well, I decided that I didn't really like the bastard, and would not invite him to any more functions.

Of course I had liked Sebastian fine before – _before_ I had noticed that Jacqueline was still in love with someone. Not that I was jealous of the man, but it seemed a tad cruel that after all this time he couldn't just let it go. So what if she'd made an advance on him? He was a lucky man for a woman as beautiful as Jacqui to love him. His wife was not all that pretty, even if she was nice, which didn't make me so much of a snob – more of a jerk. But a loyal jerk, because I truly did want to see Jacqueline happy. Even if it wasn't with me, because I couldn't just marry her. I highly doubted either one of us would be happy with that arrangement.

"Your chaperon wasn't what I expected," Jacqueline said quietly, since everyone else (except Leopold) was involved in a cheerful discussion about gunshot wounds. "You made her sound extremely nutty. She seemed a little more composed than I would have thought – for a nut."

"She isn't a nut," I grunted. "She's...annoying. That's what she is."

"But you like her," she pressed. "Don't you?"

"When she isn't speaking. But I'd much rather talk about you," I murmured, sliding my hand beneath the table to touch her knee. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

Jacqueline cast a long look down the table, then gave a little sigh. "Of course I am. I've missed seeing you."

"That can be easily corrected, you know."

Marisa halted in her conversation with Camille, tuning her ears towards us. I scowled at her for being nosy, and she gave me a narrow look, as if I were suggesting inappropriate things aloud.

"Will you stay after everyone has left?" I asked in a low voice. "Just for a few moments. I would like to speak with you."

"Raoul – "

"A few moments," I repeated. "Nothing more. Nothing we cannot discuss in the entryway, or in the midst of a crowded room."

"Very well," she sighed. "But just for a few moments."

From the opposite end of the table, Sebastian Deneuve glared at us, and I glared right back. I wished that I had known earlier who she had been in love with. It was hard to pin down the man, because she had so many friends. And it had taken little effort to discover which friend her true love was married to, because she had protested my inviting Elise.

"He doesn't deserve you," I whispered, then squeezed her hand. "He never has."

"Oh, please don't," she groaned. "I cannot...truly not tonight."

I fell silent as the servants cleared out the meat course, and prepared to bring in dessert. She'd paled considerably, and I noticed that she wasn't quite looking at me anymore. I wanted to ask if something had changed between them. If he had finally decided to pursue her, or if she'd made the unfortunate mistake of saying something to him. I would have to remember next time I had him alone to deck him.

Not that I usually did that sort of thing.

The servants brought in the caneles, and we both lapsed into silence while the rest of the table continued to chatter away. Absently I began to pluck at the dessert, not really hungry anymore and wanting a drink. The only appetizing thing about a canele was that it tasted faintly of rum.

"Raoul," Jacqueline whispered urgently.

I glanced over to her, and she was pointing down at her dessert with an expression somewhere between frozen horror and utter disbelief. There was something quite...quite odd looking about this particular batch of caneles.

"What the...?"

I looked around the table, and saw Marisa reaching for her fork. The next instant Jacqueline slapped my cheek so hard my neck cracked, and sixteen other pairs of eyes snapped down the table.

"You bastard," she hissed loudly, then shoved me out of my chair. "How dare you say something like that to me?"

I could only flounder on my back as she walked out, wondering if she'd given a wonderful performance, or merely managed to break my back. At least no one was looking at their dessert anymore.

Damn Lacey! She was truly...truly going to regret crossing me.

- -

She jumped nearly a foot when I slammed through the door of the playroom. Charlotte and Kate caught my thunderous expression and backed away, eyes wide and mouths open.

"Why?" I growled at her. "Why did you do it?"

Lacey stared up at me for several moments then said, "For obvious reasons, of course."

Up until that moment I had prayed that it wasn't her, not that there was a reasonable explanation. But she confirmed it with a strange little smile and returned to her book. Feeling very dangerously close to shaking her, I ripped it from her hands and threw it across the room.

"Why in God's name can't you just be _normal_?" I shouted at her, disregarding her stunned expression. "Everything I thought about you before...do you have any idea how much I didn't _want_ to believe it? Any idea Lacey?"

Her mouth fell open, then shut again, and she shook her head.

"I wanted to like you! I truly did. I thought...hell...I was fond of you! But then you pull a stunt like this! How could you do something like that to me? _Why?_ Why do you hate me so damned much?"

Lacey's eyes turned glassy, and she blinked several times. "Wh...what do you mean?"

"You're the least responsible, and most childish woman I've ever met. I cannot, for the life of me understand why Erik put you in charge of Charlotte and Amber. You're entirely unsuitable, and God knows I wanted to be wrong about that," I boomed, still furious. Still so damned furious. She was lucky I had gotten the desserts out of there before they had seen what she had done. I'd never been so embarrassed in my life, and I hadn't thought her capable of causing any sort of embarrassment for me. "I wanted to like you, Lacey. I really did. But I cannot tolerate this anymore. Whatever Erik allows you to do in his home is his problem. But you aren't welcome in my home after this weekend. And I don't think I will ever speak to you again after this."

She glanced at Charlotte, her expression one of alarm. "What did...um...what happened?"

"What do you think happened? You're lucky I saw them in time. If even one of my guests, besides Jacqueline had seen what you put in the caneles, I would have...would have...God knows what I would have done to you," I ground out, glaring at her. "I could never imagine hurting you, but right now I would dearly love to shake you."


	16. Proverbial Nail

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

I should have known the little wretch would get me into trouble. I stared at him several moments, then looked down at Charlotte. She was white with fear, no doubt realizing the consequences of her actions far too late. I would find out later why she had done it. There was certainly no need for her to take the blame, because I could clearly see that she was upset about something. And he was going to blame me anyway. I didn't want to be accused of placing the blame of a nine year old girl in addition to my other atrocious misdeeds.

"Why did you do this?" Raoul asked me again, much quieter this time.

I trembled with anger and indignation, and could only assume that it had something to do with Kate's missing bug collection. She'd been looking for it for the past hour, but I hadn't thought much of it – until now.

"For revenge," I said simply. "I placed...what was it...grasshoppers in your caneles. Were they tasty?" I forced a chuckle, though it didn't sound humorous in the slightest. His opinion wasn't important, Erik's was, and Raoul couldn't punish her anyway. "I apologize. Such delicacies are all the thing in Africa, you know."

"This isn't _Africa_," he said through clenched teeth. "This is France. You...you..."

I held up my hand quickly unable to take any more from him, or I'd be sobbing. "No need to say it, _Vicomte_. I already know what you think of me." I glanced down at Charlotte and could see where before she had been upset, now she was crying. I would join her soon if I didn't get out of his sight. "Come, Lotte. I'll go sample some of the canele's. It's only proper, of course, since I took the pains to make them special, just for the party tonight."

I didn't glance at him, and merely arched a brow at Charlotte when she hesitated. She followed me quietly at first, then once we were out of his sight she ran in front of me, making me stop. "Lacey, _no_," she whispered. "I _wanted _him to know I did it. You weren't supposed to _lie_."

"Did you really want him to know? You may go tell him the truth, if you wish." She stared at me, her mouth puckered into a fierce frown. "Go ahead, Lotte. Go tell him."

"Lacey, you weren't supposed to lie," she insisted, but it was clear that she would allow me to accept the blame. Her courage had floundered as she realized exactly how angry he truly was, and now I was sacrificing myself to keep her from his wrath. Not that he would lay a hand on her. Erik would see to that. But I didn't think she needed to be subjected to the sort of cruelty he belittled me with.

"You're going to eat one of those bugs," I muttered, and stalked around her then down towards the kitchen. "What on earth possessed you to do such a thing?"

Charlotte trailed behind me, her slippers dragging into the thick blue carpet. I didn't stop to question her again until we had reached the kitchen, and I had shoved a plate with a split open canele in front of her. A large green grasshopper stared out at us, his eyes blackened and head caked with yellow batter.

"Why did you do this?" I repeated. "Why did you want to make him so angry?"

She shrugged, and dragged a pointed toe across the floor. The looks given to me and Charlotte by the kitchen staff were not ones of amusement...but obviously the only person who thought I was the culprit was the Vicomte. "I didn't think of that part. Just that _she _would see it, and maybe her face would fall in her soup when she fainted."

"Who?" I asked suspiciously. "The cook?"

"No," she ground out, her small jaw tightening. "That lady that visits _him_ all the time. I hate her. I hate her...she's ugly, and I don't want her to marry him."

Jacqueline? She had made a terrible mistake in having Charlotte for an enemy, but I didn't think Jacqueline had done anything particularly wrong. But not only was Charlotte still the apple of Raoul's eye, she was a formidable opponent. Only the daughter of the Phantom could deal so well with a grown woman.

"I want to go home," she mumbled. "Please, Lacey?"

"I..."

Erik had told me I could bring her home if necessary. As always, her needs were prevalent to what he wanted, sometimes even what Eva wanted. And most definitely what Amber wanted, because that child never asked for anything.

"You must ask the Vicomte," I said softly. "But it's rather late, Charlotte. Why don't you wait until morning?"

"No! I want to go home! I don't want to be here. I want to see Papa!"

She trembled a little and suddenly flung her arms around my waist, sobbing uncontrollably. It was the first time she'd ever tried to make any sort of contact with me. After I'd doused her with water, our relationship had never really warmed back up.

"Please, please, please," she chanted, her fingers digging into my gown. "Please, Lacey. Please?"

As angry and hurt as I was, more at him than at her, I thought it was a good idea. At least if I went home I could cry in peace. At least then he would hold his end of the bargain, and never see me again. I would never come here, I would never hear him laugh at something I said, or see him smile. If I'd been just a little less vindictive I would have told him the truth. But he would always think it was me, and always assume the worst. He'd never see me as a real woman – and most definitely not as a lady. Somehow it just seemed best to call a carriage and leave with Charlotte, not bothering to stop and get our things.

She apologized no less than a dozen times on the way home, but I was far too upset to respond. I was determined to stop feeling for him. Determined to forget him. To do something with my life, other than spend it whiled away at Erik's hoping that one day Raoul would just look up and see _me_. I wanted that more than anything, and I was stupid for wanting such a thing. Perhaps I _was _mad. Perhaps I was obsessed with him, and not quite as in love as I believed. Maybe this was just a sickness inside of me, like what Erik had confessed to feeling for Christine.

I didn't know what it was. All I knew was when I arrived back at Erik's I stunned him – and Eva as well – by collapsing in his arms and crying.

My first coherent words were, "I want a divorce."

- -

"Better?" Erik murmured as I hiccuped in his arms.

"No," I moaned. "I'll never be better. I think I really am crazy."

"You aren't crazy," he said softly. "Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

"I'm not sure. Something to do with grasshoppers, mistresses, and desserts. Ask your daughter."

As Charlotte was currently upstairs with Eva, it was impossible, but it didn't make me any more lucid.

"A...ah...you mentioned a divorce?" he prodded. "What brought this on, might I ask?"

I blew my nose on his handkerchief and sighed, leaning back against his chest. This was what I had always needed. Not Raoul, I thought with a little sigh. Just a man – not this man, of course – just a man. A good, strong man who would be gentle and kind. Protective, and loving. "Zachary," I said, almost wonderingly. "Do you think he'd take care of me?"

"_What?!!!"_

"I've never really considered him before, but he does inspire a sense of safety, doesn't he? Do you think Rebbecca or Eva would mind much?"

"Lacey, please explain yourself," Erik sighed. "I'm somewhat of a genius, but you've lost me completely. Are you saying you want a divorce because now you're in love with Zachary?"

"No!"

"Then what are you saying?" he demanded, "Because my wife has a perfectly warm bed waiting for me upstairs."

"I want a divorce," I mumbled, leaning reluctantly out of his arms. "I want to be free of Blaise. Free to make my own choices. I...I'm thinking of moving to Brazil."

Erik sighed. "You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"

"Maybe a little," I confessed, blowing my nose again. "I just don't want to see _him_ anymore. And I don't want to be married either. It hasn't done me a bit of good, and I just want to be free. I hate wasting my life, still married to him. I...I want a family of my own."

"You have a family," he said softly, chucking me under the chin. "What did Raoul say to you?"

"Awful things. He hates me. He's always hated me," I whispered. "I think I hate him too."

"You don't hate him," he said softly. "But I don't know if you love him either. I think perhaps you just need to get out. To meet some new people. Lacey, a girl like you isn't meant to live like a recluse. You aren't made like I am. You need...you need someone to love you, and protect you. If that's what you want. I...I don't know if you've even considered becoming romantically involved again."

He sighed, as if the conversation were truly wearisome.

"I'm assuming Charlotte did something, and he's blamed you for it?"

"She put grasshoppers and other bugs in his dessert," I muttered.

I expected laughter, but he permitted himself only a chuckle before becoming stern again. "I will make sure she has confessed when he visits tomorrow."

"No!"

"Lacey, why are you so intent on him thinking the worst of you? Did you ever tell him who cut his hair?"

"No," I whispered, looking away. Erik had ordered me to tell him, and I had disobeyed. Because...well, I wasn't really sure why. Because I had half enjoyed the grumbling attitude he'd taken with me, and so loved to tease him about it at times. It was all I thought I'd ever have with him. This teasing, often affectionate and mildly irritating relationship. It was better than nothing, which only made me more pathetic.

"No matter how much you try and make him hate you, it won't change how you feel about him," Erik said quietly, making me dissolve into instant tears.

He had, as always, hit the proverbial nail. Right on the damned head.


	17. Facing the Music

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

I was thoroughly disgruntled after my guests left, and I stalked into my study, stopping with surprise when I saw Jacqueline lounging behind my desk. I had thought she'd left well before everyone else. She glanced up, spied my still stinging cheek and rushed forward.

"God, I'm so sorry," she said, wincing. "I didn't quite know what to do..."

"Yes, I understand you were going for distraction," I said tightly. "But did you have to hit me so damned hard?"

"I'm sorry," she repeated, caressing my cheek. "I...I didn't want you to be embarrassed. What in God's name was that all about? Who would do something like that?"

I sighed, letting her hand soothe my jaw. "The nutty chaperon. The one you didn't think was crazy."

"Madame Chartraine?" she frowned. "Why would she put bugs in the dessert?"

I shrugged my shoulders, feeling more angry at her by the minute. The more I thought of the disrespect involved in her actions, the angrier I became. I had for some reason imagined that she liked me at times. That we could be friends, despite the occasional bickering. I didn't know exactly what I felt for Lacey, but I knew that seeing Leopold standing over her had infuriated me beyond reason. The man had apologized repeatedly for it, begging me not to mention anything to Marisa. But I would have torn him apart if he'd ever touched her.

So what was that? Protective nature? I'd never even felt the mildest stirring of attraction for her, despite her innocent beauty. But it was mostly because I'd just never thought of her like that. She'd been abused. It wasn't something I just wanted to think of – anything involving Lacey on my part would be considered dalliance, and I would never do that to her.

"She's angry with me. She has been for some time now, and I made an ass of myself the other night. But she didn't have to do something so heinous."

Jacqueline frowned and pushed a hip against my desk and scooted backwards, dangling her legs over the side in thought. "Are you sure it was her? She seemed...nice."

"She made you cry," I pointed out.

"No...she stated the obvious," she said slowly. "I was ready to cry before you opened the door to the playroom."

Guilt and a feeling of stupidity made me sink into my chair, staring at a delicate ankle that I really wanted to kiss. Jacqueline knew my wicked thoughts, and my attempt to grasp it was met with a firm, "No, Raoul."

I sighed. "Tell me a little more about Sebastian Deneuve."

"I'd rather not," she said crossly. "I'm not going to stay any longer. I just wanted to make sure you knew the reason I'd whacked you."

"Why precisely did you whack me?" I asked, grinning.

"Maybe," she said with a soft smile, "because you needed it."

"Of that I have little doubt, but couldn't you have just screamed at me? Or something equally reprehensible?"

"It worked didn't it?" she smiled. "No one knows you had bugs in your dessert but me. And I won't tell."

"Thank you for hitting me then. I guess."

She sank onto my knee, looking adorable and only a little impish. I'd never thought about her reasons for ending our relationship much, but now I wondered if I had inspired a little jealousy in Sebastian Deneuve. And maybe, just maybe, she was hoping he would come to his senses.

"Tell me about him," I repeated. "Please, Jacqui. You've been a good friend to me the last two years. The least I can do is be one for you."

"I was faithful to you, if that's what you're worried about," she snapped, trying to get up.

I grabbed her wrist and tugged her back down. "It's not, and you know it. I always trusted you. Is he bothering you now? Has he threatened to tell his wife? Or have you...have you tried to convince him again to pursue you?"

Her jaw tightened, and I knew she was truly angry. I'd never pried into her affairs before, because she hated it. Especially into this matter, which until now we had never tried to discuss.

"It's not your business," she gritted out. "Now let me up."

I released her, maintaining a civil tongue only because I didn't want to lose her friendship. I opened my mouth to offer an apology, but a discreet knock on the door interrupted me, followed by it opening without my answering.

"Cousin Raoul?"

It was Kate, peeking hesitantly through the doorway, carrying something in her hands.

"May I come in?" she asked nervously. "Please?"

"Of course," I said, standing slowly. "What is it?"

She glanced warily at Jacqueline, who had moved across the room, then laid a wooden box with a glass top on my desk. I peered inside, catching sight of several dismembered beetles, some still attached with pins to the inside cork board.

"Ah...your entomology collection, I presume."

"Yes," she said, biting her lip. "My father collected them all for me."

"I'm sorry, Kate. I had no idea that Lacey would do something like this."

"But Lacey didn't," she whispered, looking up at me with big, teary eyes. "Charlotte did it."

- -

My first thought, was one of disbelief. Charlotte would never do something like this. And Lacey had admitted it. She'd _known_. And she'd looked me right in the eyes and told me why. Revenge.

"No," I said, looking at her sternly. "Kate, Charlotte didn't do it."

"Yes she did," she insisted. "I couldn't find it all night, and it was in her room like this. Then when they left, I heard them arguing about it. Charlotte was mad at Lacey for telling you she did it."

And my second thought was, dear God. I'd really hurt her. With nothing to say, and completely shocked, I slumped in my chair. How...why...?

"Where...where is Lacey now?" I asked faintly.

"They left," she repeated. "She took Charlotte outside, and they got into a carriage."

I surged to my feet, but once there I really had no clue what to do, or what to say.

"Whoa," Jacqueline said, moving in front of me. "Slow down, you aren't going anywhere tonight."

"I'm not?"

"No. What are you going to say to her? What _did _you say to her?" she asked, getting a slightly peeved look in her eyes.

"A lot," I muttered. "I have to talk to her."

"He said she was irresponsible and childish, and he said she couldn't ever come back here again," Kate offered helpfully. "And he said he wanted to shake her."

"Raoul." Jacqueline looked at me with anger in her eyes, and a very scolding expression. "That was very mean of you."

"It was," I said, sinking back into my chair. "It seems to be a habit I have with her."

"It was more than mean," she continued. "That was unforgivable. Cruel, even. Kate...could you please excuse us? I have a few words I need to say to your Cousin Raoul, and I don't think you ought to hear them."

I winced the moment Kate ran out the door, leaving me alone with a woman who I had always treated with respect (except for our first two initial meetings, of course). Jacqueline had always demanded the utmost respect from me, and I'd done my best to earn hers. At the moment, I had never felt so low.

"You are a bastard," she seethed. "How could you do something like that to her? And didn't you tell me she'd been in Salpetriere? Put there by her husband? Raoul..."

"Dammit, I didn't know!" I shouted, feeling thoroughly ashamed, but a need to defend myself. "She admitted it to me! She said that she did it, and I had no reason to not believe her!"

"Did you ask?" she questioned icily. "Or did you accuse her?"

I groaned, laying my head in my hands. I'd done more than accuse. I'd found her guilty before I'd even picked myself up off the dining room floor. She was right about one thing though. I wasn't going anywhere tonight. I would need more than a polite apology to earn her forgiveness.

And maybe more than that to get past Erik's front door.

- -

To my surprise, Madame du Brul led me right in the next morning without so much as a raised brow. Erik was sitting behind his desk, arms crossed over his chest as I came into the room. Looking supremely angry, and beside him sat his equally angry looking wife.

"I've come to apologize to her," I said before either of them could speak.

"You're damned right –"

"You're damned right –"

They broke off, looking at one another in consternation. Eva sat back and pursed her lips, obviously allowing Erik to proceed with his lecture.

"If you ever...ever hurt her again, I'm going to kill you," Erik said quietly. He leaned forward, the white mask ominous and mocking at the same time. "I will allow you to apologize to her. This time. But if this happens again, you will not be welcome here again."

"I understand," I answered immediately, knowing how much I deserved it.

"I wanted Charlotte to be here for this," he continued, idly pushing a black domino tile across his desk. "But she was very upset, and I saw no need for her to be punished that severely. She feels horrible about it. You do know that she was the one who did this, I trust?"

"I do. Now."

"And, for the record, it was Charlotte and Amber who cut your hair," he said, glancing up for a moment. "Not Lacey."

I dropped into a chair, feeling twice as bad now. I had honestly believed she had done that. Because of what she'd done to her own hair, more than anything. And I'd yelled at her quite a bit over that matter, and she'd looked at me and said _'oops'_. "Why didn't she tell me?" I asked, feeling numb. "Why?"

"You don't know a thing about her," Eva said tightly. "Not a thing, if you think she would do anything spiteful to you. Not you, be – "

"Eva." Erik stopped her with a slight shake of his head. "It isn't our business."

"What isn't?" I asked, sitting up.

Erik turned back to me and frowned. "Your entire combustible relationship with her. I've had enough of you two. Either she accepts your apology and you make friends with her now, or you will not ever speak to her again. I believe that has already been threatened, so I trust you would have no problem with it now."

"I will do my best," I said stiffly. "But I couldn't blame her if she doesn't accept."

"Neither will I," Erik said with a sigh. "Though I hope you can think of something to say worth her forgiveness. I've never seen anyone cry that much. Honestly."


	18. True Friends

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

I didn't want to see him. I wanted to see him. And as he strode purposefully across the lawn towards me, drawing nearer with each long length that he took, almost at a run towards me I couldn't help but try and catch my breath. I hated him for doing that to me. I hated that he could be so cruel and mean, and still make my stomach flop and my legs turn to water.

And I knew...I just knew that he _knew_. He had that same look of stark terror he'd had when I'd heard him making comments about me. That same look he always had when he tried to apologize. One of determination. One of deep...deep regret. I stood frozen, wanting to run the opposite way, but my heart beat harder in my chest, until he was standing in front of me. Then I thought it might simply explode.

"Lacey..."

"Don't."

I turned around, unable to look into his eyes without crying again. I could see his regret, and I was already willing to forgive him. That made me an utter, and complete idiot. I'd stopped being angry with him a long time ago for what he'd said, and when he'd been rude and snappish while we'd been stranded during the snowstorm. For being a jerk. I had even forgiven him for accusing me of cutting his hair, because I'd thought it was funny.

But last night had hurt too much, and I didn't want to forgive him this time. Because I didn't think I could live with myself if I forgave him, and he did it to me again.

"Please," he whispered. "I am so damned sorry, Lacey. Please just look at me."

"Go away. Just go away, _Vicomte_," I snarled, half choking.

"No. Not until you have heard my apology, Lacey." He caught me by the arms and spun me around, and I was lost in his eyes. His tortured, misery filled blue eyes, who told me more than his mouth ever could.

"I've heard it. Now get lost," I continued, willing myself to be angry as I pushed away from him.

"No."

Raoul placed his hands over my upper arms and pulled me close. God, I thought he was going to kiss me, but he just stared down at me with a remorseful expression, and something akin to pain in his eyes.

"I want to be your friend," he said, his tone gruff. "That's what I've always wanted, Lacey. I want to know _you_. I don't think you're crazy. I never have thought it."

"LIAR!"

"_Listen_ to me for _once_!" he shouted. "I have not thought such a thing since the day you overheard me. And I knew when you reprimanded me that you were not unintelligent, nor crazy, but I have no idea about your state of maturity, because apparently I don't know you!"

I tried to twist out of his arms again, and in a fit of absolute temper I stomped on his foot. He grinned widely at me when I hurt my own toe in the process.

"Boots," he murmured apologetically. "They can be the bloody devil, can't they?"

"Release me at once!" I demanded.

"No. Not until you've listened to reason. Every time I attempt to apologize to you, I get physically assaulted, or you tune me out. You're going to listen to me, dammit, if I have to tie you up and gag you."

"Maybe I don't want to listen," I spat. "Maybe I don't care about your apologies, or your friendship. I don't...and I won't forgive you. Ever!"

"You must," Raoul insisted. "Or I will bother you every single day for the rest of your existence. I will be unrelenting and grovel at your feet every day until I've earned the right to know you. _Really_ know you, Lacey I – "

"Stop," I whispered, turning my head away. "You're too close. You're crowding me, just...just stop..."

He let me go immediately then took a step back, and I struggled to breathe, but not for the reasons he obviously thought. I hadn't been able to think clearly – still couldn't. His cologne...his underlying natural scent. His hands burning into my arms and my breasts brushing against his chest, which he hadn't even seemed to notice.

"I'm sorry," he said, with a deeply embarrassed look on his face. "I...I didn't think. I'm..."

"Sorry?" I snapped.

"Yes."

I crossed my arms and half turned, staring at him warily out of the corner of my eyes. He shoved his hands down into his pockets and hunched his shoulders, looking like a little boy being punished for trampling precious flowers.

"There must be something I can do," he said quietly. "Anything, Lacey. I would do anything to make this up to you."

Marry me, and love me forever? That wasn't so much to ask, was it?

"Give me some space," I muttered. "I don't want to see you anymore."

I couldn't...I just couldn't. It hurt to much.

My attempts at stalking off and having the last word were futile. He stepped in front of me, completely unwilling to compromise with my needs. _My_ needs, because for once, I truly needed to be away from him.

"You should have told me," he said with a low growl. "Why did you let me do that to you? I...what was I supposed to think?"

"You never gave me a chance," I whispered, feeling hot tears slide down my cheeks. "Never. Not once."

"I know. That's why I'm here. Right now, Lacey. _I'm here_, and I want you to know how sorry I am, and I want to make it up to you. There has to be something else. I don't want to never see you again," he replied, his voice sounding hard and rough. "I do want to be your friend. More than you know."

"Why? Why now?" I sobbed, unable to control myself any longer. He wanted to be my friend, but what else did I have left for him? I didn't think I could do this. Not now. Not after everything.

"It's what I've always wanted," he answered softly. "I...I went to Salpetriere. I saw the room that Victor kept you in."

Someone began making the oddest, strangest sound. It was only when his arms went around me that I realized it was me. Those horrible, awful sounds came from me, because I was caught somewhere between a moan and a strangled scream.

"I'm so sorry," he said, squeezing me to him. "I didn't mean to bring that up. I didn't want to hurt you, Lacey."

I melted in his arms, completely devastated. He had _seen_? He had seen...God, I could still remember every detail. Every crack on the ceiling, and every shit stain on the walls. The constant crying, both in my head, and from the women around me. My knees buckled, and he lowered me to the ground gently, still holding me as I cried. As I completely lost control, and lost every ounce of will to never cry in front of him. To never let him see – never let him in. Because he had seen _that room_.

Anger slowly reinforced me, and my sobs subsided as he rubbed my back. I took a moment to memorize how his arms felt. Different from Erik's. Tighter. Erik had never held me this tight. He'd never put his cheek against mine. Never stroked my hair or made me feel this way. I'd always felt safe with Erik. With Raoul, I felt safe. But something else as well. But I couldn't...wouldn't let him see that. I could only imagine what he saw now, and it was far too painful and humiliating to realize he knew how damaged I truly was.

"Let me up," I grunted, trying to pull away from him.

"Lacey..."

"You have no right to know those things about me," I said coldly, looking away from him. "I hate you for that."

Raoul touched my cheek, his thumb brushing tears away from my eyes and I closed them, feeling desire rock through me. His touch was a thousand times better than my dreams. Than my daydreams. Had my mouth not already been parted from a constant flow of tears, I assure you it would have fallen softly open. He must have attributed my shaky breathing to something other than lust, because he merely waited until I turned to look at him.

"I would have killed him, if I had truly known you," he said softly. "Your husband. And Alencon. And any other man who ever hurt you. I wasn't trying to shame you. I just wanted you to know how I felt."

"What?" I whispered, unable to stop the word, and not wanting to retract it once I had blurted it out.

"I would die for your honor, Lacey Chartraine," he replied, then pressed a kiss to my cheek. "I would give my last breath to protect you, and I would do anything in this world to call myself your friend. I would. Truly."

"Oh." It seemed to be all I could say, with his powerful words, and his gentle kiss. He pulled me back into his arms, and I touched my cheek reverently, already thinking I would never wash that particular spot.

And there he held me, for what might have been an hour, or might have been five minutes. But he held me, and I knew my tears were spent – for the moment. I might cry more, but it would be later, and there would be ones of joy mixed in with those of bittersweet victory. I was closer to him now than I had been before, but maybe not as close as I wanted to be. I might never be that close to him.

But at least now, I could call him my friend.

Truly.


	19. We're Having a Ball!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

It felt odd to let her go. And that in itself just felt extremely – odd. That I didn't want to really let her go. She felt good in my arms. I wasn't like other men who absolutely hated the female's urge to cry. I suppose I was also accepting of their need to purchase endless clothing and the millions of accessories that went with them. Crying was just something they did, and it had never at all bothered me to hold any woman while she was in the midst of tears. But _Lacey's_ tears were another story. Because her pain was _palpable_, and caused mostly by me. So when I did let her go, it was because I wanted her to stop crying, and fix that pretty little smile she always bears on her face.

And because I thought she _might_ have been nuzzling my neck, and it was damned distracting. Not to mention...well...I didn't want to pursue that avenue of thought. She was obviously terrified of men, and added to that she was still married, and a million other things that finally penetrated my once rational mind.

"Better?" I asked, pushing her back a little bit. She gave me a wan smile, but nodded. "Your nose is redder than a cherry."

"Oh!" She pushed back and covered her nose with one hand, giving me a baleful look.

"I've always liked you because you didn't care about little things like that," I said gravely.

Lacey immediately dropped her hand, proudly displaying her red nose, looking at me as if I'd called her bewitching. I had always been drawn to her lack of artifice. She was without guile – without much of the constraints that surrounded most of the women I knew. I hadn't even realized I liked that about her until now. I had always reprimanded her for doing atrocious things, or speaking about things that were meant to shock me. Now I realized she had done all those things merely to provoke me. Because I was an uptight jerk, and so easy to manipulate.

"I hope this doesn't mean you're going to be nice to me," I said dryly, giving a mock shudder.

"As if I would consider it!" she retorted, but not without a smile. Then she frowned slightly. "There's a bruise on your cheek."

"They generally occur when someone hits you there," I deadpanned. "Jacqueline thought that slapping me would be an excellent diversion from the caneles. So the servants could clear them out while I lay on the floor, flopping around like a fish."

"Oh." Then she smiled. Then she laughed. "I think I like your mistress. She has spunk."

"Former...ah...she's just a friend," I said gruffly.

One dark blond eyebrow shot up, and she fixed me with a rather feline expression. "Oh? Do all your friends enjoy such...benefits? Or just the female ones?"

I blushed. Yes...blushed. A thousand shades of red all across my face, and over my ears as well. Lacey just sat there and laughed at me, making me feel a thousand times more embarrassed. Men and women – who are friends (and most who are not) – do not pursue such a topic of conversation. But I had already discovered that there was little that Lacey would not discuss. Except for herself.

"Alright, alright. That's funny. Ha. Ha. Ha."

"It is funny," she insisted. "Because now _your_ nose is red. And your ears...and your cheeks. Fair men should not blush, you know. Although...you do have a bit of a tan. Not like those lily white men like my fath – "

Her lips clamped shut, and she moved an inch away from me. "Lacey? What were you going to say?"

"Nothing," she muttered, her laughter over. She stared at me warily for several moments, then an odd expression came over her. I could see little wheels spinning in her mind, and suddenly her eyes became alive again, and her face took on a very delicate glow. "You said you would do anything to make it up to me."

"I did," I said cautiously, wondering what she could possibly have in mind to make her smile like that.

"_Anything_?" she prodded.

"Ah...within reason," I added. "I would do most things. Why don't you tell me what you want?"

She bit her lip, then stared down at the ground for several moments, and finally mumbled something.

"I didn't hear you. Could you repeat that?"

"I want to...I want to go to a ball," she whispered.

"Oh." She looked dismayed, and started to rise. "No. Wait. I'm thinking," I said, tugging on her hand. "Sit, please."

A ball? That was what she wanted? To go to a ball? I guess it didn't really mean anything to me anymore. I'd been to far too many in my opinion. Once I'd married I hadn't really wanted to attend anymore unless Christine had wanted to. But to a young girl like this...who had never known that side of life? It must have seemed very glamorous and heavenly. In truth men don't find them of much interest unless they are looking for a bride. Unmarried ladies are looking for a groom. And the rest of the women spend most of the time backbiting and making discreet examples of the girls they don't feel worthy of speaking to.

"You want to go to a ball?" I asked, trying to get her to look at me.

She barely nodded, still staring down at the ground.

"With...me?"

"Oh, it doesn't have to be with you," she said quickly, looking up. "You can just take me then...throw me out of the carriage. I'll manage just fine, I promise. And no one would need to see you with me. I just – "

"I'm not throwing you out of a carriage," I said testily. "And I wouldn't care if the Emperor seen us together."

Lacey fell silent for several moments, then looked up at me. "It would need to be a masquerade," she said quietly.

"Why? There are public balls, you know."

"Just...just please trust me on that. I would feel more comfortable if no one could see me."

"Lacey, it's March. Most people hold their masquerades in October and on New Years," I said gently. "I haven't received an invitation to a masquerade in years, actually. I seldom attend them."

"Why not?" she asked innocently.

"Ah...it's something to do with opera houses and ghosts," I muttered.

"Erik," she said flatly.

"Yes," I said carefully. "How do you...never mind. It's obvious, isn't it?"

She nodded, then slowly sighed. "What about you? Why can't you host a ball?"

"I'm a bachelor. It would be seen as trolling for a wife, not to mention it's against propriety without a proper hostess."

Lacey shrugged. "So let Marisa do it."

"You have this all figured out, do you? Sorry, I've seen my cousin's taste in clothing. If I'm going to go through the trouble of hosting a ball then I would not want it to look like a funeral."

"So you'll do it?" she asked, her voice becoming excited. "You will?"

"I...I...haven't exactly agreed to it," I stammered.

"But you will agree to it?" she demanded. "Remember? You would do _anything _to make it up to me? Remember that?"

"I wish that I didn't," I grumbled. "This is it? This is the only thing I can do?"

"Well, I wouldn't _force_ you to do it," she said, her jaw sticking out a little bit. "But you have called me several names, and I really, really don't want to forgive you."

"I'll do it," I replied with a heavy sigh.

She beamed. And wasn't that what this was all about, anyway? Making Lacey smile?

- -

"What's this?" Erik asked, lifting up the piece of a paper I had scrawled on. "Ann Marie Amadeus. She sounds like a character for a Blackberry Cole novel."

"That is the name of a modiste," I said tightly. Jacqueline's modiste, to be precise. Not that I was going to enlighten any of them to that fact. "For Lacey."

"Oh," he frowned, then glanced up at me. "So...you're...getting married?"

"_What?_ No!"

Erik breathed a sigh of apparent relief. "Thank God. You two would kill each other in a day."

"It's for a ball gown," I snapped. "She wants to attend a ball."

"A ball?" he asked, then glanced at Eva. "Eh...why?"

I shrugged my shoulders, scowling at him. "Because. That's what she wants. A masquerade ball, to be precise."

"Oh. Well that makes sense," he said, quite sensibly.

"It does?"

"To me it does," Eva said, giving me a beaming smile. "That's so sweet of you. Taking Lacey to a ball. She loves to dance, you know."

"I know."

"You do?" she asked, all innocent and doe like. I wasn't buying it for one moment.

"Since I am hosting it, you and Erik will attend," I stated, satisfied to watch the smiles fall from their faces.

"What?"

"_Really_?"

They stared at one another, and I detected a mulish expression in each of their faces.

"Eva, a ball?" Erik grimaced.

"Really! A ball," she sighed. "Oh...will you let Rebbecca come too?"

"If that is your wish, Madame Chartraine," I said, giving Erik a bland smile. "We will suffer through this together."

"Or I will hide your body in the keep," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Are you nuts? We just had a baby – "

"_We_?" Eva questioned archly. "I don't recall _you _having a baby. I remember quite clearly who was having labor pains, and – "

"Now see what you started?"

"Erik, you're going," I said, backing away from the recent mother who was sprouting horns. "Eva, you may invite whoever you want. Just...give me a list. I'll let you two sort this out."

Before I made it to the door, he'd pulled her out of her chair and into his, displaying a goodly amount of affection with his lips locked over hers, and hand beginning to stray from her waist. I sighed with regret, wishing for even one memory like that with my wife.

Even one.

Then I went home and wrote to my other cousin Miriam (Marisa's older, and sweeter sister), requesting that she help me plan a ball, preferably to be held within two weeks. It seemed the de Chagny estate was going to be put to use for the first time in over a decade.


	20. The Gown

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

I'd kissed Raoul. Not that he knew it, of course. But while he'd been holding me I had pressed my lips against his neck, so lightly that I knew he didn't suspect a thing. It had almost been too much, because I'd wanted to put my tongue out just a little and taste him. To know...just to know what he tasted like.

I couldn't tell Eva. She'd tell Erik, then I'd have to bear him looking at me with that damned look he always has. As if he knows my every thought. As if we're related or something, and connected through some mystical bond, because I swear he can read my mind at times. So as much as I wondered if he might have already known that I stole a kiss (and a secret one at that), I didn't tell Eva.

I told Rebbecca.

She'd changed in the last two years. Zachary had given her an outlet for her anger...and the girl had a lot of anger. More than me, actually. More than anyone I'd ever met before. And Zachary had gotten through to her in a way no one else had. It was amazing actually, the way they got along. I'd seen her the first time he'd let her step into the ring and he had let her hit him. Really, really hit him. Hard. And when that had hurt her hands, he'd given her a bat and shut her in a room with a bag of corn.

The bag of corn did not survive.

I had tried it once, and truthfully I hadn't done anything more than sweat a great deal and it had made me tremendously hungry. So I took my biting sarcasm out on Raoul, among others, and Rebbecca beat row crop seeds to death. I guess we all had our own way of working out frustration.

"_You_ kissed the Vicomte?" Rebbecca asked dubiously.

"Yes," I said in a low whisper. It seemed almost sinful to talk about it.

"What did he do?" she murmured, leaning in close, her eyes sparkling with the need for gossip.

That was one thing I always loved about Rebbecca. And that she loved about me. We felt that we could share anything now, and we didn't judge one another or treat one another harshly. She didn't comment about my insane obsession with Raoul de Chagny, and I never said anything about her anger issues. We got along perfectly fine ignoring and confiding in one another about our mutual faults.

"Well, nothing," I said, sighing. "He doesn't know I kissed him – exactly."

Rebbecca rolled her eyes. "Was he asleep?"

"No."

"Drunk?"

"No! He just...doesn't know."

"What'd you do, blow him a kiss from across Paris?" she said sarcastically.

"You aren't helping me," I said testily. "Don't steal my glory. It was a kiss, even if he thought it was a..."

"Sneeze?"

"How could a kiss be a sneeze?" I wondered, then realized she was still tormenting me when she snickered. "Oh! See if I let you come to my ball!"

"So now it's _your_ ball?" she giggled.

"Well if it's not mine, then who does it belong to?" I demanded.

She took a moment to study her invitation. "Well, it says that it is being held by the Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, with Miriam Rocard as his hostess."

"Ugh! You're definitely not going now," I muttered, snatching the thing from her hand. "This should say...never mind." I lost the courage to say with his wife: Lacey de Chagny as his hostess. Or however it would need to be addressed. Just as long as it said _Lacey de Chagny_.

"So if it's a masquerade, why don't you just kiss him? He might not know it's you."

"He would know it the moment I opened my mouth."

"Not...if your mouth was occupied," she said, flashing me a little smile.

I couldn't argue with that, but I knew it wouldn't happen. So I leaned back against the carriage seat and smiled dreamily. Zachary – nearly forgotten about (which was _nearly_ impossible since he took up most of the carriage) – shifted uncomfortably in his seat, accidentally kicking me in the leg.

"Sorry," he muttered, then glanced at Rebbecca. "You two...God. How do I get into these predicaments? Couldn't you just _not_ talk for our outings?"

"That's impossible," Rebbecca said, giving him a cheeky smile. "But I will give you a reprieve when you agree to come to the ball."

"And I told you Hell will freeze over first," he said firmly. "I'd do anything for you, Becca. Except that."

She rolled her eyes, then looked at me. "I don't know if I'm going or not."

"Your guilt trip isn't going to work on me," he huffed, crossing his arms. "I told you no."

"Why?" I asked, staring at him.

He shifted a moment, glaring at us both. "I don't know how to dance. Not that _that_ is the reason. Because I wouldn't go no matter what."

"Rebbecca can teach you to dance," I said, grinning. "Or me. But I rather think Rebbecca should do it. You have a week now to prepare."

"Please, Zachary?" Rebbecca asked solemnly, looking at him with big, luminous eyes. He struggled not to so much as look at her and failed. "You don't have to dance at all. I would just feel...safer if I knew you were there. Please?"

- -

We dropped him off at the tailors as we traveled to the modiste that Raoul had recommended. I laughed when I thought about how easy that enormous man was to manipulate, though I knew he was likely going to be miserable at the ball. He dressed well enough, but there was no covering up hands and a face that had been pummeled for most of his life. (Of course, being a masquerade, part of that was already solved). He was handsome in a rugged way, but honestly the sheer size of him frightened me. And it had taken Rebbecca a considerable amount of time to get used to him, but I thought she was doing much better than before.

"Aren't you scared when you think about...about men, Lacey?" Rebbecca asked, stopping me on the street outside the dressmakers. "About...marital things? Do you think you would ever do that with Monsieur de Chagny, if he was...?"

"Aware of me?" I sighed. "No. I don't think I would be afraid with him."

"You trust him?" she prodded, looking skeptical.

"I know he won't hurt me. Not...physically hurt me. That's enough for me," I said, looking at her curiously. "Why?"

"I'm...I...I want to kiss Zachary," she stammered, then turned a very dark shade of red. "I don't know what to do."

"Because of Amber and Eva?" I asked softly.

She nodded, looking around guiltily. "It's wrong, isn't it? Eva's my sister and she...she had a child with him. I...I just trust him. And I want to know if I can move on."

"Are you in love with him?"

Rebbecca flushed more, then shrugged. I couldn't tell if she was embarrassed to have asked me, or if she was feeling shame for her thoughts. I, of course, saw nothing wrong with it. If they wanted one another, then they should do it. I really didn't think Eva would mind. I knew Erik wouldn't mind. Amber might be a little awkward to explain it to, especially if they ever moved beyond the kissing stage and Rebbecca had a child. Try explaining a half sister/cousin to their bouncing bundle of joy.

"What if you kiss him, and find out he has feelings for you and you have none for him? You wouldn't be friends anymore," I said gently. "And I know how important he is to you. You cry every time he goes to London, and I've noticed he hasn't gone in over six months."

"He stopped fighting," she whispered, then stared down the street. "For me. Because he knows I...I can't function when he's gone. I hate making him feel that way. He didn't even stop fighting for Eva. I hate that too. I didn't want to tell her because I thought it might make her angry."

"At you? Or at him?"

"Both," she mumbled, looking tragically sad. "I never should have moved to the third floor. He makes me feel _too_ safe. And now I...I'm starting to think that maybe I do love him. But I don't want to...what if it's not real? I feel like I'm stepping on Eva's toes."

"She is happily married," I reminded her.

"This is so confusing," she groaned, slapping a hand over her mouth. "What do I do?"

I shrugged. "I'd kiss him senseless. But that's just me. I never think about anyone but myself."

- -

Ann Marie Amadeus took one look at Rebbecca's trim figure and fell in love. Combined with her pale, perfect complexion and the deep auburn hair and dark whiskey eyes, Rebbecca had gone from frail and scrawny to petite and delicate. Gone was her scraggly limbs and stringy hair from being starved near to the point of death. She had recovered completely – at least on the outside. There were still scars on her body, ones she had recently begun to display, like the ones on her wrists, and some around her neck which she didn't discuss.

I thought perhaps she was displaying them in some sort of defiantly proud way. As proof that she had survived, and she was willing to live again but never forget. But she was making her way back to living much slower than I had done. Even if I was outgoing with Erik and those closest to me, I still was reluctant to step out into Paris without someone. I even felt nervous now, with Zachary down the street.

"Ah, and you my dear," Ann Marie exclaimed, finally handing Rebbecca over to an assistant with a bundle of color swatches. "You...exquisite! I love your shape, so beautiful. So...lush! You make the men weep, do you not?"

"Um, no," I stated, blushing a little.

"I think I know what you need," she murmured, winking at me. "Ah, yes. You need to show your magnificent bosom! Bare it to the world!"

"Hmmm? Bare it?" I repeated, glancing over at Rebbecca, who was grinning. "I'd really just rather keep it covered."

Ann Marie chuckled, pulling me towards the back. "It would take months to create something for your shape. I happen to have a gown half complete that will be perfect for you. Come, dear. Try this on."

She stopped in front of the gown. _The gown_. The one I had always dreamed of. _The gown_. I hadn't known the color, or the fabric before, but the instant my eyes fell upon it I just knew. I knew it was meant for me.

"Madame," I breathed, touching the gold silk moire gown. "It's beautiful. It's..."

"Perfect," she sighed. "I knew it the moment you walked in. It's for another lady, of course. But she has a dozen ordered, and she never chooses her gowns anyway. _This _one is yours!"


	21. Masquerade

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

Miriam was my oldest, and favorite (no, really) cousin. Though there was a fifteen year gap between us, I'd always liked her. She'd lived in Versailles for the last twenty years, loving the sleepy, almost abandoned city that lay to the west of Paris. And though she'd scolded me for giving her only two weeks to prepare a ball (a masquerade no less), she was delighted that I was willing to make use of the old family home.

And I'd even told her a little bit about why I was hosting it. She was very, very eager to meet Lacey, a woman who could inspire such a grand gesture in a man not really fond of making grand gestures.

"Is she pretty?" Miriam asked, sliding a wry grin at me when I began to scowl. "What? It's a yes or no question, Raoul."

"What difference does that make? She's very pretty, but it doesn't mean anything. I told you. We're friends."

"Of course you are," she smirked. "Like you're friends with Jacqueline Pochet?"

"Lacey is not that sort of woman," I growled, watching as people began to stream into the room. I'd forgone the option of having the guests announced, which not only gave people a sense of freedom, but also enabled my non aristocratic guests to mingle as they pleased without fear of being snubbed.

I hadn't spoken with any of them since I'd begun making plans for this thing, mostly spending my time collaborating with Miriam on a guest list. Marisa, naturally, was a little peeved that I had not let her coordinate the blasted thing, but I had made it clear that as the eldest sister Miriam would be a more proper hostess.

"Jacqueline doesn't mind you hosting a ball for another woman?" she asked, continuing to poke at my nerves with a sharp stick. She was rapidly becoming my least favorite cousin. Or perhaps my recently deceased, presumed-dead-because-she's-missing cousin.

"Madame Pochet and I are also only friends," I said tightly, smiling as a man and woman in identical demi masks came forward to greet us. They moved on, allowing two more couples to come forward. "Besides. Lacey is married."

"She is?" Miriam lowered her mask for a moment in surprise. "Well. This is new."

"I...I wouldn't advise you to mention her marital status," I said quietly. "He's a cruel man. I'm doing this because I dishonored her by accusing her of something she didn't do. It's the least I can do."

"You're kind, dear, but couldn't you have just bought her some roses?"

Roses? No, Lacey wasn't a woman made for roses. She needed...daffodils. Sunny, bright daffodils.

"Good God!" Someone near me snickered.

A woman...a large woman...in a purple (bright purple) taffeta dress had stopped in front of us and bent over to retrieve her mask. I feared for a moment she would bust the seams on her dress.

"Shhh!" Miriam glared at me, as if I had done it. "That's Blandina Arlette. Her mother is one of my dearest friends."

"You're kidding," I said, looking at her rather large rear. "I...Words cannot describe. Her name is really Blandina? Someone ought to tell her she shouldn't wear purple. Or...taffeta."

"You're going to save your first dance for her, just for that," she said mildly, clucking her tongue.

"I'd planned on saving it for..."

She arched her brow at me, and I decided not to say Lacey. I would never hear the end of it.

"Blandina it is," I murmured.

"You know," she said, looking at me speculatively, "when your mother made her debut, she wasn't a favorite. She practically hid behind the draperies, and your father was forced to dance with her. Look what happened. They created a beautiful, if slightly rude, male heir."

"Miriam, go to Hell," I replied, "I'm not going down that road again. And definitely not with..."

"Blandina! Lovely to see you!" Miriam gushed.

I turned to find a rather whey faced dame, who had to be ten years older than me batting her eyelashes at me like a tender young Miss. I groaned inwardly, pressed a kiss to her sour smelling hand, and knew I was going to spend at least two dances with my arms around her.

It seemed my dreams of dancing with Lacey would be put on hold. My cousin spied another young lady that would need a partner so she wouldn't feel neglected, then another. As a host, it was my responsibility to dance with the ladies who were not getting any attention. Luckily, as a masquerade, there shouldn't be as many as at a regular ball. But I could already feel my mood sinking for the evening.

And not even half of the guests had arrived yet.

- -

I figured that Erik had planned on coming slightly later than everyone else. I'd completed my obligatory greetings for the first hour, and was making my way around the room when Jacqueline called out to me. I turned, smiled when I saw her almost at a run towards me without her mask.

"I need to speak with you," she whispered urgently, glancing around. "Alone."

"Alright," I murmured, leading her out of the ballroom then away from a crush of people in the hall. "What is it?"

"She's pregnant," Jacqueline blurted out.

"Who?"

"Elise. She told me today."

I studied her a moment, seeing that her eyes were swollen and red, and she was worrying her lip almost as fiercely as she was wringing her hands. "I'm sorry," I finally replied, knowing how devastating it must be for her. "What would you like me to do?"

"I...I couldn't not come," she said, glancing around nervously. "I had already told her I would be here. I didn't...I didn't want to stir anything. I'm beginning to think she knows how I feel about him."

I attempted to put my arms around her, and she shrugged me off.

"No...I...I'll break down. Don't try and coddle me."

She looked as if she would anyway, and the dancing hadn't even really begun yet. As host, it was my duty to be present for most of the activities. I'd done my required duty by Blandina Arlette, and several other ladies my cousin had thrown my way. Another half hour and I shouldn't have to be so visible.

"Why don't you go into the library until you've composed yourself? I promise as soon as I have an opportunity I'll come get you and we'll dance. And dance," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "And anything else you need to do."

"There's no one there?" she asked. "Does...does the door lock?"

"Of course," I said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the room. I made sure it was empty then left her inside, returning to the too warm ballroom.

I spotted Zachary almost immediately, suppressing a grin as he fumbled his way through a waltz with who I could only assume was Rebbecca. I strode forward, intercepting them before they crashed into another couple. Despite the clumsiness of their dance, they were grinning openly at one another.

"Rebbecca, Zachary. I missed your entrance. I trust you are having a good time?"

Zachary grunted, pulling Rebbecca back towards the wall. "I feel like an idiot," he muttered, then looked down at Rebbecca and smiled slightly. "You owe me for this."

"Owe?" she smiled back, then looked up at me, her eyes twinkling with mischief behind a royal blue satin mask. "Have you seen Lacey yet?"

"She's here?" I questioned, relieved I didn't have to ask. "No, I haven't."

"Over there," she pointed. I turned, and didn't see anyone. But I did see Jacqueline had returned to the room. And she was dancing with Sebastian Deneuve.

They looked to be arguing, and I could see Elise, his wife, standing just a few feet away from me looking quite angry.

"Ten francs says she slugs him," Zachary murmured to Rebbecca.

"You're on," Rebbecca turned back and grinned. "I wouldn't put anything past her."

She slugged him. Right in the nose.

Utter silence fell upon the ballroom, then a smattering of applause from two or three drunks around the room. Jacqueline spun around and stalked from the room, and all thoughts of Lacey were abandoned as I raced after her.


	22. Mistaken Identity

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Ugh! The nerve of some people! If this was how respectable men treated women, I didn't want anything to do with balls or society! I could hear someone coming after me as I stalked from the very silent room, my heart racing as I remembered the glimmer of pleasure in hitting that detestable man in the face.

He'd called me a pathetic strumpet! Well. Not me. He had assumed I was Jacqueline, though I'm not really sure why. I hadn't corrected him, of course, because he had looked very handsome from what I could see behind his black mask. And I'd seen Raoul with Zachary and Rebbecca, and thought to display my dress and dancing skills, nothing more.

Then he had said that to me, and I'd called him a jerk, right before I punched him. I wasn't sure what his relationship was to Madame Pochet, but if he treated her like he had me I wouldn't put up with it.

"Jacqueline!"

I turned, stunned. Raoul was storming after me, an angry expression on his face. I glanced down at my dress, touched my jiggling bosom reverently, then looked back at him.

"What did he do to you?" he demanded, propelling me by the arm down the hall. "I told you to stay in the library, didn't I?"

"Ummm." I stopped, risking a glance at him. He thought I was Jacqueline? He thought I was Jacqueline! I shut my mouth, then shrugged. Would she shrug? She didn't strike me as a woman to do something so inelegant. Unless she was shrugging out of a dress.

"His wife was watching, you know," he snapped, nearly pushing me into his study. "You can't let this bother you. You have to get over him because he doesn't deserve this faithfulness. He isn't worth crying over."

I stepped away from him, realizing he was truly angry with her. "R-Raoul..."

"You aren't going back in there until you promise me you won't think about him another moment. You don't have to come back to me, Jacqui," he murmured, then sighed. He...he still didn't know it was me! Oh...oh! "But just don't keep tormenting yourself over him. He isn't worth your love."

"I-I know," I whispered, lowering my voice to match the tone I'd heard her use before. Why had I done that?

"Here, sit," he said, softly, tugging on my gloved hand. There were no lamps lit inside his study, just the brightness of the outside lanterns shining through a window. I allowed him to sit beside me, a bewildering amount of nerves fluttering inside of me.

Should I tell him? Oh...God, this was agonizing. I was feeling breathless, and he was staring at me with a suddenly arrested expression. Like he was going to devour me. I knew then I wouldn't...couldn't end this ploy so soon. How was it he thought...?

"You're beautiful." Raoul moved closer, his hand reaching automatically for the mask. Instinctively I slapped his hand, and he grinned. "I've already seen you without it tonight. Your eyes were all puffy. You look adorable when you're upset."

I glared at him. _She_ was adorable, and_ my_ nose turned into a cherry? Honestly, he had no idea how much he had just insulted me.

"Why did you go back? I would love to go back out there and hit him for you. I guarantee you he would do more than just bleed all over his evening attire."

"He bled?" I asked, surprised.

Raoul looked at me oddly for a moment, and I realized my voice had come out rather squeaky. I cleared my throat, pretending to have choked. On what, I'm not sure. Air? Spit? In the end, he merely nodded, clearly proud of me for striking the gentleman. I wondered what his name was, and what his wife thought of me hitting him. And I wondered if Jacqueline was still in the library, oblivious to all the drama _'she'_ had created tonight.

I knew this was not going to go well for either one of us. But at least he didn't know who I was...and likely never would. Impulsively, I touched his cheek, wishing I could take my gloves off. But no...I had rope-burn scars on my wrists. He'd know immediately if I did that. His eyes closed, and he caught my hand, pressing a kiss to the center of a silk-clad palm.

"You're not wearing perfume," he murmured, pressing his nose against my wrist and inhaling.

"I-I must have forgotten," I whispered, my voice catching as he kissed me again. My heart began to hammer in my chest, and I pressed my other hand across my breast, certain he could hear it. Certain he would know the difference between my heart beat and hers, if he knew nothing else.

"You're nervous," he continued, sliding his arm around my waist. "I feared I had lost my touch. May I...?"

"May you what?"

He chuckled at my breathless tone, his hand traveling up to that spot I'd seen him caress on her neck before. Perhaps he liked that particular spot. Ah...perhaps it was_ I_ who liked it. He stroked the skin behind my ear slowly, sending fire blazing through me. I couldn't quite recall ever feeling this hot before. Hot...everywhere. My stomach felt as if I had swallowed blazing red coals, and I could do nothing more than watch as he warmed to my nervous anticipation.

"May I kiss you? Really...really kiss you? It's been a very long time, Jacqui."

"It has?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Months," he answered gravely, giving me a wicked smile. "You look...different tonight. Different from before. Perhaps you should have hit him long ago."

I nodded, wondering what he noticed different, and realized the entire time he had been slowly inching forward as I leaned backwards. Soon I would be reclined on the sofa, and he would be...well...I wasn't quite sure where he would be. Suddenly I stopped moving, certain I was going to be kissed.

"Let me bring you pleasure," he whispered, drawing me towards him with one hand against my back. "Only you."

"Raoul."

His hand cupped my chin, and I stopped caring about why he thought I was her. He was looking at _me_. He was experiencing _me_. I wanted this. This kiss, this high level of intimacy with him. I might never have anything else, but I would have this.

And he was so far gone, it seemed he didn't care.

"Kiss me, Raoul."


	23. A Necessary Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

This story has just undergone a rating change! Rated M now for sexual content! A short but, necessary (I assure you), chapter.

**Raoul**

There was something different about her tonight. Something oddly enchanting. Her lips were painted a deep raspberry pink, her eyes resembling a lighter, brighter blue with the soft lavender mask covering the entire upper portion of her face. A plume of feathers rose in the center, then fell back against her golden hair. I wasn't sure if it was the mask, or the way she had stood up to Sebastian. All I knew was that I wanted her...this different Jacqueline...who never would have displayed such emotion unless she were truly hurt.

I wanted to comfort her. To bring a little color into her face. I really wanted to _see_ her face, but she looked far too fetching with the mask. I'd never understood the allure of them before. Mine was annoying – I stripped it off impatiently and tossed it aside.

"Kiss me," she whispered again, her eyes big and pleading. There was a huskiness to her voice I'd never heard before, not even in the beginning of our relationship. Desire curled in my stomach, along with need. "Please, Raoul."

I took a moment to wipe the oily substance from her lips, my thumb swiping at her soft, plump mouth as I looked into her eyes. Her hands slid up over my shoulders, then around my neck as she scooted closer.

I kissed her.

Lips brushing over her gently, it felt as if I'd never kissed her before. Not like this. I'd never been this connected with her before. Never seen her so vulnerable and open with me. She had always satisfied me, but I had learned that with Jacqueline, it was never about making love. We had sex. We had an affair. But we didn't make love. She would never allow me that close to her.

She moaned softly, opening to me, and I flicked my tongue inside her mouth. She tasted like champagne...odd. Jacqueline didn't normally drink champagne. It must have been the news of Elise's pregnancy that caused her to need it. Whatever the reason, she pressed herself against me suddenly, as if we could never be close enough. I felt the first stirrings of a warning in my mind. I didn't want to take advantage of her if she was drunk. Or so unguarded that she was willing to sleep with me, even though she had been adamant that it was over.

"Perhaps...we should stop," I babbled, apparently for no reason.

She seized me around the neck and pulled me tight, kissing me fiercely and without any sense of rhythm at all. Nothing prepared me for her assault. Jacqueline exhaled against my mouth, deepening the kiss. Her tongue struck mine, her lips nibbling at mine. I felt her hands slide through my hair, grasping and holding me to her.

"Never," she uttered, "don't ever stop."

"Jacqui – "

"Don't speak." Her eyes were heavy with passion, glazed with unmet need. "Don't say another word."

She reached for my hand, moving it from around her waist to her breast. I felt her nipple through the dress, already hard and puckered. Her head fell back as I traced my thumb over it, a slow, enticing circle. I pressed her into the arm of the couch, licking her throat, nibbling gently, thanking God for low-cut ball gowns.

Jacqueline arched against me, inadvertently pressing a knee to my hardened manhood. She didn't seem to notice, so distracted by my mouth on her skin. Without the heavy scent of perfume ticking my nose, I licked between her breasts as I pulled my gloves off, pleased with the taste of her. No powders. No perfume. She was natural tonight. That for some reason nearly drove me mad, and I tugged at the bodice of her gown until I had freed one breast, hidden only by her chemise.

She exploded when my tongue caressed her flesh, clutching my head and lifting her shoulders, rocking herself to push her breast against my mouth. I caught the hardened point between my teeth, tugging gently, listening to her breaths come harder and faster.

"Raoul," she gasped.

I sucked in a suggestive rhythm that soon had her hips lifting from the sofa. Her head twisted side to side restlessly, then stilled as my hand crept beneath her gown, tracing over heated skin through cotton drawers. She wasn't wearing a corset...and she wasn't wearing petticoats. But I could feel the bustle bunched beneath her bottom.

"I want to give you pleasure," I breathed against her skin, then caressed her heated core through the fabric. She was moist, swollen in readiness for my touch. "Let me..."

"Yes," she whispered thickly, lifting her head to look at me. "Yes, Raoul."

My hand edged up further, untying the delicate lace ribbons that held the seam together, then stroking her through the damp curls.

I kissed her, my fingers sliding inside and teasing her as she moaned. Her eyes met mine, confusion shining in the blue depths. As if she understood that something was different. Something was more exciting this time. I swirled, teased, plunged, finding the little swell that begged for my attention. She was slick, hot, and urgently needing release. I couldn't believe how much more aroused she was by a three month long absence. I slid one finger, then two inside, working faster until she was begging. Nothing excited me the way her eyes flew back, and she moaned, arching and sobbing against me.

"Yes," I murmured, "let it go, my love."

I felt her shudder, climaxing with a long, low sound of pleasure. Her cries filled the study, arousing me beyond madness mingled with the scent of her. I covered her mouth with mine, seeking to prolong her pleasure indefinitely.

"Oh God, Raoul," she gasped, clutching my arms. "Oh!"

"Oh, indeed," I whispered, kissing her neck. "I rather think you needed that."

"You have no idea."

I pulled her up, smiling at her as I popped her breast effectively back into her gown. Jacqueline frowned at me as I smoothed her bodice back down flat, then straightened her mask.

"You...?"

"Not tonight," I said softly, wondering how I was going to make it without her. "You've been drinking, and you were upset earlier."

"Oh." She frowned again. "That doesn't matter."

"To me it does. And we've been gone long enough to incite rumors, not that it matters. But I want to dance with Madame Chartraine before she leaves. This entire ball was prepared as an apology for making such an ass out of myself about the dessert fiasco."

She stared at me several moments, as if she had no clue what I was talking about.

"You have been drinking, haven't you? Remember the chaperon I introduced you to?"

"The one you said was crazy?" she muttered, then shot me a suspicious glance.

"I never said that."

Jacqueline stared a little longer, then leaned in to kiss me. "No one will miss us."

"No, Jacqui. We...we're going to talk about what happened with Sebastian, and about...about this."

"This?" she repeated, sounding a little afraid. "Why?"

I groaned, then kissed her again. "Because this was...perfect. Different. _You_ were different. And I only hope it was because of me, and not because you were intoxicated and upset. If it was, then I think I'll force you to imbibe more often, and think up something really...really mean to say so you'll cry."

She laughed lightly, then straightened her skirts, looking at me with regret. "Thank you for tonight, Raoul. It was beyond perfect. I'll...I'll never forget it. Never. Now...you'd best sit here awhile. I'd hate for you to...bump into anything," she murmured, glancing down at my lap.

With a last kiss she was gone, leaving me to wonder if she had any intention of retying her drawers...or striding out into the ballroom with them open beneath her gown.

Thinking of that made me no less engorged, and I had to sit there another five minutes, wondering if I was ever going to get to leave the room.


	24. Two Madames

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

As I moved away from his study on rather shaky legs, I felt my heart seeming to slow and still within my chest. _What had just happened? _I mean, I understood the basics, though I had never experienced anything like_ that _before. He was right. I had drank two glasses of champagne, and on an empty stomach. But I wasn't drunk. Not on alcohol.

On love.

I was completely in love with him.

Otherwise I never would have done something so desperate. Everything I had said to Rebbecca, well, I had thrown right out the window. _Kiss him, and you won't be friends anymore?_ Pah! I'd done much more than kiss him, but tonight I wouldn't think about that. I needed to get out of here before he figured out he'd mixed up his mistress and his slightly mad friend.

Well – perhaps after tonight I could truly call myself crazy. But at least I had a memory of him to treasure forever. Kissing his neck seemed pale to the deception I'd contrived tonight. I realized with sudden sadness I hadn't gotten to taste his shoulders. That made the act seem somehow less complete – even less complete than if we had actually joined.

I realized with dismay that I couldn't immediately return to the ball room. Something was tickling my legs, and I ducked into the library, locking the door before I pulled the hem of my gown up, finding it was the ribbons to my drawers.

"Ahem."

I dropped my dress, spinning around, then felt the blood drain from my face and my heart plummet into my shoes. "Madame Pochet?" I squeaked.

She smiled - genuinely, it seemed - and tossed her mask to the side. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. I handled Sebastian with considerable less force, and quite a few tears afterwards. However did you do it?"

"Oh, dear Lord," I moaned. "I'm terribly sorry..."

Her blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and she sat down with the elegance only a true lady possesses. "For what? You don't really look at all sorry. You managed him quite well, I might add."

I turned a dozen shades of pink, a curse of my fair coloring. How in the world had they both mistaken us? Our hair was similar, our eyes both blue, and our dresses gold...our dresses! We...we were wearing nearly identical dresses. Hers was a tad lower cut than mine, and she had different sleeves. My bust was larger, her waist was trimmer, and I was just fuller throughout.

"Madame - "

"Jacqueline," she said smoothly. "So, Madame Mystery, what did Sebastian say to earn such a blow?"

"I beg your pardon?"

She shrugged, then patted a spot on the couch, "Sit. Tell me what other mischievous things I did tonight. So I might remember them more clearly in the morning."

"Oh God."

"There's no need to invoke his name," she said cheerfully. "I shall not divulge your secrets. You look as if you've had far too much fun. So...why did you pretend to be me, and why were you looking up your dress?"

"I didn't," I protested weakly. "He simply...the dress...he just..."

Her mouth twitched to one side as she took in our dresses, then she chuckled. "Ah. Unobservant as always."

"You don't sound terribly angry," I said cautiously, moving closer to sit beside her.

In one smooth motion she had done what he'd failed to do, and taken the mask off.

"Madame Chartraine. I thought it was you."

My stomach tightened, and I felt the first sting of tears gather. "Please...please don't tell anyone. Oh, please. He can't ever know it was me. P-please."

She shhh'd me immediately. "Your secret is safe with me. Tell me, darling girl. Tell me what happened."

My stomach turned; twisted. Not a terribly unpleasant sensation, because I was recalling in vivid detail exactly what had taken place. Each touch...God, his voice. Would I ever forget that husky, deep murmur? No. I didn't think I would. Nor would I ever be able to dispel the passion in his eyes.

"N-nothing," I whispered, then heard her scoff. "Well...not precisely nothing. But...not what you may think. Not with...not with S-Sebastian."

She breathed deeply, then exhaled. "Thank God for that. Though I couldn't imagine him abandoning his morals _now_."

"He called me..._you_...something horrible. That's why I socked him."

"Then good for you, but please. I'd rather not know what he said."

"Raoul was right," I blurted out, then stopped, feeling my throat tighten. She just stared, her eyes full of questions. "He doesn't deserve your devotion. I'm...I'm sorry. He hasn't betrayed anything willingly. He thought I was you as well."

"You're glowing, Madame," she said, her eyes taking on a little gleam. "Did I do something with the _Vicomte_?"

"Shit."

"Such unladylike manners," Jacqueline chuckled. "I would never say something so naughty. You'll have to remember that next time."

"Oh, there won't be a next time. I assure you of that!" I exclaimed, moving away from her. "Please do not mention this to him! He would never...never think of me in that way. And really, it wasn't anything so bad. I'm sorry if you are reconciling with him. I truly am. But we didn't do...much."

I wasn't sorry. I would never be sorry, and really, he'd just taken me on a couch in his study, but not all the way. That surely couldn't be all that bad, could it? Even if it sent me into flutters every time I thought about it, and I was debating whether or not I could do it again without getting caught.

"I'm not reconciling with him," she said quietly. "Much to his dismay – but he is a man. Not that we aren't friends. But there is no long term devotion between us. I'm sorry, dear, but I don't know if he is ready for anything permanent."

"I don't –"

"You're in love with him. I can see it in your eyes."

I fell silent. Absolutely silent.

"I think he does care for you," she offered, looking at me with understanding. "I won't say anything to him, but I do think you should do so. I don't think you will manage to keep this secret for long."

"Why?" I wanted that more than anything. Why couldn't I just have this memory? Without losing him forever...without him knowing it was me...

"I'll do you a favor, and I'll leave. I really don't want to be here anyway. But I think you should leave as well. Raoul isn't stupid, though. He might be a tad unobservant, and God knows why he thought we were the same woman – no offense to you, because _you're_ younger and fresher. But he's going to come sniffing around me again – "

"You were drunk!" I practically shouted at her.

She blinked. "I was? Am I still drunk?"

"Er...yes! You're madly drunk! And...and so am I. If you see him, tell him I've gone home. If he bothers to ask," I muttered, then reached for my mask. Fixing it firmly over my face, I peered out into the empty hall, praying he was no where around. "Good night, Madame Pochet."

"Good luck, Madame," she called out as I shut the door. Then I heard her beneath her breath, "You're going to need it."


	25. An Uncovered Lady

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

It took awhile, but I finally found Erik. Actually, it was Eva who I recognized, because Erik could have been any one of the dozens of gentlemen in a black mask. I noticed as I approached that he was keeping a firm distance away from everyone else. Placing his wife firmly in front of him, as if she would (and no doubt could) shield him from someone who dared to touch his face. Eva was looking stunning in a green gown, her face covered by a black satin mask. If it hadn't been for her hair I might not have distinguished her from the other redheaded women, but hers was a very distinctive color. And she seemed to be the only woman in the room who wasn't wearing some sort of feather ensemble tucked in their mask.

"Oh Raoul, thank you for letting us...forcing us to come," Eva said, nudging her recalcitrant husband in the ribs. "We're having fun, aren't we, Erik?"

"Of course," he muttered, staring at the back of her neck. Or rather...I thought he might have been looking directly down the front of her dress. "Lovely."

"We would be if you would dance with me," she declared.

"He won't dance? Such a shame to let someone so beautiful stand against the wall. Erik...may I dance with your wife?"

"No."

"Yes," Eva said at the same time. She took my arm, tossed a willful smile over her shoulder then stepped out into the throng of dancers with me, beginning in the middle of a minuet.

"I don't know if you ought to have done that," I murmured as we faced one another. "He's going to be livid."

"With you," she said coyly. "Not me."

"Thank you, very much."

Eva glanced over, "Well, I think the next set is a waltz. I don't think he will let you waltz with me."

Erik was scowling, and I was surprised to see Jacqueline sidled up next to him, her arm threaded through his. She tugged impatiently, and he glared down at her. Then I couldn't see any longer as we moved deeper into the crowd.

"Were you surprised to see Zachary here?" she asked, forcing my attention back to her. "I was. I'm curious how my sister ensnared him into coming."

"I've no idea. They seem to be getting along," I answered. "Where is Lacey? I've been searching everywhere for her."

"She was with Erik just a moment ago." Eva craned her neck, trying to see through the crowd. "I'm not sure. Haven't you danced with her yet?"

"No I was...occupied."

"I'd say. You've been gone for half an hour," she said, giving me a devilish smile.

Only half? It seemed like I had spent at least two or three in my study. But I did want to dance with Lacey. I wanted to tell her again how sorry I was, and tell her she was beautiful. I hadn't seen her yet - but I knew that no matter what she was wearing she would be lovely. I hoped that she had danced plenty of times, and that men had been courteous to her. If they weren't – I vowed to punish any man who treated her with anything other than respect.

"Has she been enjoying herself? I haven't spoken with her yet. I had other obligations."

Eva gave me a look. "You didn't catch her? I know you saw what happened earlier."

"What happened?"

"That gentleman who asked her to dance said something to her and she hit him. I think he thought she was someone else, though I can't imagine who," she replied, glancing around. "He left earlier. I think it was his wife who was dragging him out by the necktie."

A strange sensation settled into my stomach, and I looked at Eva. "Where is Lacey?" I asked again, my voice sounding odd and distant.

She turned her head slightly, losing count, causing her to stomping on my foot and almost knock me over. "Why, she's still with Erik. Don't you see her?"

As the stinging on the top of my toes subsided, another sort of pain shot through me as I stared across the room. The _only _woman with Erik was the woman I had spent the last half an hour with in my study.

"Gold dress? Lavender mask?" I demanded, abruptly stopping. Eva's mouth fell open, and several people around us began to stare. "Tell me. _Now_."

"Y-yes," she stammered, her brows raising. "Why? Raoul, is something wrong?"

"No," I replied automatically. "No."

No. It couldn't have been her. No...not Lacey. It wasn't Lacey._ It wasn't Lacey. _No. The most erotic experience of my life could not have been...her.

"Well, dance with me," Eva said impatiently. "People are staring at us. Especially my husband."

I glanced over, finding Erik looking at us both from across the room. Lacey..._Jacqueline_...whoever she was had her back to the dancers, and she was desperately trying to catch Erik's attention.

"That's Lacey?" I whispered, finally beginning the dance again. "Eva, that can't be Lacey."

Eva smiled, her eyes glowing. "She's beautiful, isn't she? I was wondering if you would ever notice her."

"_Notice_ her?" I echoed. "She's...of course she's beautiful. But she's...she's not..."

"I must say that the modiste you recommended did an excellent job. That gown is just made for her! Her figure...," she sighed, "...I would love to have a figure like hers."

"Don't...talk about her figure," I gritted out. Jacqueline's modiste. A curvy figure, somewhat like Jacqueline.

God, if it was her. If I crossed the room and looked into those eyes...How could it be her? I knew Jacqueline! I knew her. I'd been having an affair with her for the _two_ years. I knew her body. Her eyes, her mouth. Her smell...which had not been precisely her smell. Since when did Jacqueline forget to wear perfume? I'd never noticed her without it before.

"Why not? It's a very nice figure," Eva pointed out. "See? She's being asked to dance already."

I began forcing Eva back towards Erik, taking her arms almost in the position of a waltz to guide her across the room. People were staring, but I was beyond thinking of any sort of gossip at this point. Let them talk. I had to speak with Lacey. I had to know...at the same time I didn't want to know.

And she _was _dancing with someone else now. A young man, who from the looks of it was not even out of college yet. The minuet finally ended, and I stopped any pretense of dancing to drag Eva the rest of the way to her still scowling husband.

"You're dancing is deplorable!" Eva said, snatching her wrist away from me. She put a finger against her husband's chest. "I hope you intend to dance with me tonight, because if you aren't then take me home!"

I heard people around us chuckling, just as a waltz was being called. Someone suggested that Erik take her outside and teach her manners. Another that he take her home and teach her manners.

He glared around at all of them before brushing past me with her hand laced in his, muttering something about hanging me.

It seemed I stood there forever, looking at Lacey and her partner dancing. Standing. Staring. Wondering if it was her. Knowing, the knowledge a queer sinking feeling in my gut. If it was her, then I had surely taken advantage of her enough. She had been drinking, and whatever Sebastian said to her had upset her. Though – she hadn't been crying. And my God, she had encouraged me to do those things. Suddenly it wasn't enough to wonder. I had to know.

Whoever was leading her stopped and seemed to melt away once I had cut in silently. She was in my arms, and by God, it_ was_ her. I could see it now. Why hadn't I noticed her before? Why had she let me do that to her? She wasn't looking at me, and her mouth trembled violently.

That mouth that I had been kissing. Those breasts that I had caressed.

I knew I was in trouble when I finally realized it was her. That I had done those things to her...with her...and I wanted to do them again. And the idea of doing those things with her, with feisty, always spirited Lacey was very damned appealing.

"You look ravishing tonight," I finally managed to say. What else could I say? I couldn't bring her to tears in front of all these people. I couldn't do anything more than stare down into those startled blue eyes, feeling lust slam through me with stunning force.

"T-thank you," she murmured. "As do...well. You look handsome."

"Lacey, right? I do have the right woman this time?" I asked softly, holding her hand a little tighter. "And please do not stomp on my toes. I polish my own boots these days, and it's not a task I enjoy."

"You're angry," Lacey whispered, closing her eyes.

"Angry? I don't quite think that describes what I feel right now, _Jacqui_."

I could feel her tense, see a tear slide from beneath her lashes, hidden quickly by the mask. I wasn't certain what I felt. Anger? It seemed secondary to...to shame. I had dishonored her, and she had _let_ me. She had participated. Encouraged, even. I could only thank God that I had been determined not to compromise her completely. I hadn't wanted to seduce _Jacqueline_ because I had thought she was drunk. Instead...it had been Lacey. And damn if I didn't want her again.

"Could you...could you please just forget it?" she rasped, and I could see the tear had fallen to her chin. "Please?"

"I'm not going to ruin your night," I answered, ignoring her question. I would never forget it. Not as long as I lived. "I want you to enjoy this dance. The next dance. You will reserve at least one more for me. This is _your _ball. You are my guest of honor, even if no one knows it. What happened...will wait until tomorrow."

"Vicomte – "

"Have you forgotten my name? You seemed inclined to use it earlier," I interrupted sharply. "We will discuss this tomorrow."

I felt her try and pull out of my arms, and I held her fast, dancing with her becoming like trying to steer a wild horse. I continued the rest of the waltz, wondering what I was going to do. What I was going to say.

What I would tell Erik. If anything.

"It isn't...it doesn't matter," she whispered as we stopped dancing and I prepared to bow to her. "Nothing happened. I'm...I'm married. Could we just please forget it?"

I stepped close, staring down into her eyes. Those eyes that had come alive with passion. Pleasure that I had brought her, and I could only pray that there had been no pain. That I had not caused some sort of horrible memory, or made her think of anything that had happened to her before. My stomach turned to stone. I had never thought the person who would make an advance on her would be me.

"I won't forget it, Lacey. I won't ignore it. And it _does_ matter," I said harshly. "Even if it didn't mean a damned thing to you. It meant something to me. I've...I've preyed upon you. There is no honor in seducing an intoxicated woman."

"Ah," she said softly, finally managing to look me in the eyes. "But I wasn't intoxicated. Raoul."

And with that, she lifted up her skirts and disappeared through the crowd.


	26. Free

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Why had I admitted that? Or anything? I danced with two or three more gentlemen immediately after I left him, all of them with rather rancid breath and ogling natures. Towards the end of the evening it seemed they became more intoxicated until the only ones I would agree to dance with were Erik or Zachary. Erik noticed something was wrong, naturally, but truthfully I still wasn't regretting what had happened. I didn't think I ever would. There were no consequences, except the ones to my heart. And if he would just let it go, nothing would have to change.

I didn't need to confess all to him. I didn't need to proclaim my love and devotion. I was content to love him...just love him. Wasn't I? It was all I could have. I was married. And he certainly didn't seem eager to revisit that particular arrangement with another woman. When I looked at him every now and then he was standing next to his hostess, Miriam, and tossing back drink after drink.

Soon he would quite possibly be drunk. Would he cry as well? Would he regret it so much? Was he going to hate me for compromising_ him_? Perhaps he had plans for Jacqueline, even if she admitted she wasn't interested. Perhaps...God...what if _he_ loved _her_? He'd called me..._her_...my love. What if he loved her, and I had just destroyed some fidelity vow he had taken?

Half an hour before midnight Erik announced that we were leaving – before the unmasking – and Raoul came to claim his second dance. He was...to put it delicately...in his cups. I almost refused, but he stared at me with a belligerent expression on his face. I knew if I did he would call me a coward, and I really didn't mind spending another few minutes in his arms. With a smile I laid my hand in his, letting him lead me to the center of the room.

"Was it everything you dreamed?" he asked pleasantly.

"_Excuse me_?" I nearly forgot to curtsy before he slid his arm around my waist, holding me a little too close. His hand clasped mine firmly, then we began gliding around the room.

"The ball," he murmured, giving me a lop sided smile. "What did you think I was referring to?"

"N-nothing. I...yes, I suppose it was. Despite certain – alterations. It was everything I dreamed it would be," I answered hesitantly, letting my own double entendre slip through. "I haven't caused you much embarrassment have I? When I hit one of your guests?"

"No. I would like to know what he said to you, though," he said, his eyes closing for a moment. I'd heard a slur in there somewhere...he was drunk. I hoped he wouldn't vomit on me.

"He called me a pathetic strumpet," I replied slowly. "He thought I was...someone else."

"Ah, then I'm not the only fool here tonight."

"You aren't a fool. Please don't say that," I whispered, suddenly wishing I had the courage and the right to tell him more. But no...no I most certainly didn't.

"Just answer this, Lacey. You would tell me if I...if I hurt you. Wouldn't you?" he whispered. I could see it was something that truly concerned him. And I knew, as much of a gentleman he was, that he would punish himself for this. I swallowed, finally realizing at least one consequence of my actions. I had never once thought it might hurt him. Never considered that it might have been against his morals. I mean – I was a woman. He was a man. And in the past there had never been any question about if a man wanted me or not. _They_ were always willing.

This was the first man_ I _had ever wanted. And I had taken the opportunity shamelessly.

"You didn't hurt me," I answered, squeezing his hand slightly. "You could never hurt me. Please don't worry yourself over this."

He remained silent, his eyes cold and piercing. I wasn't certain what to say, or what to do, then he tucked my hand against his chest and guided us to a darkened corner. I swayed for a moment as he came to a halt, blocking me from the rest of the room by pushing me behind the colonnade.

"You sleep in the library," he said, his tone indicating his level of intoxication – heavily.

"Sometimes," I said warily, wondering where he was going.

"Don't...don't do it again. Leopold was watching you sleep. I wanted to kill him," he stated, leaning on a column with one hand. "I swear, Lacey that I would never have touched you. Never."

I blinked, finding tears close to the surface rather quickly. My heart sank a million degrees, and I found I couldn't quite breathe.

"Because I'm married?" I croaked, half hoping it was the reason. The only reason.

"No. I wouldn't have touched you because it isn't right. Not after what happened to you."

"Don't! Don't you dare say that!"

"It's true," Raoul whispered, touching my cheek softly. "You only deserve the best, Lacey. I cannot come close to what you need. You aren't someone to be dallied with. And I...I..."

"Please don't treat me like that."

"Like what?" he demanded softly. "Like a _lady_?"

"No! Like a...a _victim_! I am not! I will not be thought of as a...as a damned prisoner for the rest of my life," I hissed beneath my breath. "I want to live, and I will not apologize for what happened tonight! I loved every minute of it, and I want to do it again!"

Exploding with temper now, I pulled my mask off so Raoul could see my face. See how angry I truly was. See...who he was kissing this time. He didn't act like a man who would never touch me. He acted like a man who had been driven to the point of madness, and never wished to return. I started the kiss, but he soon took it over, pulling me against him, filling his hands with me and tangling his tongue with mine. He groaned, caressing my back through the gown, and I could feel him hard against my stomach. I didn't want it to end. I lowered my hand, caressing him through his trousers. It was the first time I had willingly touched a man there in a long time. Not since...not since my wedding night. I had soon learned I really didn't want to touch a man there. But Raoul...he was rigid, a long length that I wanted to explore. I wanted to share this intimacy with him. Not be the sole acceptor. I wanted to make love to him, completely. His hand covered mine, holding me against him as a sharp exhale that left his mouth, making me burn with need.

"Lacey...Lacey," he breathed, nibbling on my lip, then my jaw. "Sweet, sweet Lacey."

"I want to be your mistress," I blurted out, finally twisting my head enough to kiss his neck.

"What? _What_?" he choked, pushing me backwards. "No. No, Lacey."

I stared at him, seeing clearly that he was shocked. Why had I said that? More importantly, why was he saying no? I did want that. I couldn't have anything else. So I wanted this.

"Yes," I said calmly, thinking rationally for the first time – ever – possibly all night. "I want to be your mistress."

"Over my dead body."

I spun around, mouth open, to see Erik staring hard at us only a few feet away. He glanced from me to Raoul, his hands clenched into fists.

"Erik, this isn't what it looks like," Raoul protested.

"It isn't?" he bit off. "Because it looks like you're drunk, and she's propositioning you."

- -

The ride home was less than pleasant. Erik had practically hauled me from the ball room like a cave man. Only it hadn't been over his shoulder, and he'd been missing a club. I would have loved it if he had carried one. It would have been perfect to beat him with.

"It isn't your business," I declared evenly.

"Don't start!" he snapped.

"Erik – " Eva tried, but he cut her off with a penetrating stare.

"I...I don't see how this is your concern," I stammered. He was really angry. Extremely angry. "And...and I thought you didn't mind him so much. I...you know how I feel..."

"He obviously doesn't feel the same," he replied coldly. "I'm not letting him, or any other man take advantage of you like that."

"Didn't you hear him say no?" I spat, trembling with unspent anger and tears. "He said no."

"Good! At least one of you has sense!"

"That isn't fair!"

"Fair?" he growled. "Fair? You think it would be fair to accept a position as lowering as his mistress? You will never...never be his mistress, Lacey. Do you understand?"

I buried my face in my hands and sobbed, ashamed and hurt. Confused and embarrassed. Why could every other man and woman in the world go after what they wanted except me? I felt like a scolded teenaged daughter, rebelling against her strict father. I would do this...given the chance, if I ever had one.

"Lacey, I'm sorry," Erik sighed. "I...I don't want you to be hurt."

"You think this doesn't hurt? Do you think the way you humiliated me tonight doesn't hurt?" I cried, wracking sobs causing me to tremble violently. "God, he'll probably never speak to me again."

Erik put his arms around me, rubbing my back slowly. I had always felt safe with him, and I knew that he loved me and was protective of me, but I had never imagined him ousting me like that. I didn't think he would stand in the way of something that made me happy.

"You wouldn't have been happy as his mistress," he said gently, confirming what I suspected about his clairvoyant skills. "You would only be happy as his wife."

I laughed bitterly, "That isn't going to happen. First of all, I'm already married. Secondly, he won't marry me."

"You're getting a divorce," he said, tilting my head back. "Do you hear me? I found a way to free you, Lacey. I found your husband. You're going to be free."


	27. An Untold Truth

**Raoul**

Waking up was a mistake. I should have just pulled a blanket over my face and called it a day, because three seconds after I lifted my head I knew I was terribly hungover. Not really a surprise, considering the amount of alcohol I consumed during the last half of the ball. And in those first grand moments of consciousness, I also began to recall portions of the night that I would probably be better off forgetting. Too bad I didn't wake up in my bed - the covers really could have come in handy.

Not that I could forget what happened, anyway.

Even if I had wanted to - which to my surprise I didn't - I couldn't. _Erik knew_. Perhaps not everything, but if he had been standing there about ten seconds before he had spoken, he had seen enough. I wasn't certain what was worse. Him knowing...or me still wanting her. That was impossible. I should have been appalled and shamed to the point of begging her to forgive me. I _was _ashamed - but combined with my guilt there were other feelings there. Instead of my desire plummeting when I realized who she was...it had escalated. I didn't want to think about what she had offered. Many things might come of this - but I would never make Lacey my mistress. If I hadn't been drinking I never would have taken her to the dark side of the ballroom. I never would have returned her kiss (I think). And I most certainly wouldn't have felt that jolt of desire when she had caressed me. I think.

But no matter how much I wanted her I would never make her my mistress. I quite honestly had never experienced anything like Lacey's passion before. Never with Christine. She hadn't really been a passionate person, unless she was singing. Not with Jacqueline, because she wasn't a woman who liked a great deal of tenderness. Yet I had thought it was her, and finding out it was Lacey had actually been...what? Relief? I didn't want to have feelings for Jacqueline. Not true feelings. Not love. I did care for Lacey, but I wasn't certain if it was anything more than affection and a need to protect her. Now combined with everything else...desire.

It was a highly confused mindset that guided me to Erik's the morning (mid afternoon/evening) following the ball. He had been furious the night before, and with every right. And if Lacey had told him about the rest of her adventures, I didn't doubt I would find myself with some sort of object around my neck. His hands. A rope. A ring. I tried not to contemplate that possibility, and it didn't seem terribly emminent since she was already married, but I knew I'd fight that kicking and screaming all the way to the altar.

"You're later than I expected," Erik drawled, striding out of the house before I could knock. "Of course, you could have at least bothered to shave this morning, but I think that would have put you coming here past our bedtime."

I ran a hand over my face, surprised to remember now that I had forgotten to shave. To bathe. I looked down at my clothes, knowing the only reason I had changed was because I slept naked. I wondered if anyone had been surprised to find me in the parlor this morning without my clothes. Thank God all my guests had left...but I hadn't seen Miriam this morning - er - afternoon.

"Where is she?" I asked warily.

"She's busy," he stated, walking some distance away from the steps. "And I'd rather not discuss this inside. Too many ears."

I followed him across the lawn, letting my horse walk along behind me free reined. For awhile it seemed Erik wasn't going to speak again, but the glances he shot over his shoulder let me know he was well aware of my discomfort. And I said nothing, because I knew I deserved his lecture. She was his responsibility - and I had done something (quite a few things) wrong.

"You both were missing from the ball for quite awhile last night. Lacey won't talk about that. I don't suppose you will enlighten me?"

"No." He turned and gave me a look, and I shrugged. "I don't think you want to know. Let's just say Lacey pretended to be someone else, and leave it at that. Nothing...," I hesitated a moment, "nothing occurred that requires a _great deal_ of concern on your part."

"A great deal?" he repeated softly. "Just tell me whether or not you..."

"No. We did not," I said tightly. But we had come damned close, I added silently.

"There are things you don't know about her," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "A lot of things, actually. Things she won't tell you. About herself now, and about her past. Things that you definitely ought to know."

"Like?"

"You'll have to ask Lacey. I promised her long ago I wouldn't divulge her secrets."

"Why are you telling me now?" I asked, seeing a closed look come into his eyes.

"I've found Blaise Soboul. I need your help dealing with him, and I needed it before this little...incident occurred," he answered, his jaw muscle twitching. "_You_ will need to ask Lacey about her past, and I have ordered her to tell you everything. It will help with a little scheme I have planned to help her become free of him, so she has agreed to it very reluctantly. She wanted a divorce, so I found out where he's been hiding. I just need to draw him out."

"Draw him out? Is he in Paris?" I demanded. If he was...God help him. I'd killed men in the military, but never outright murder. I did believe I could shoot that bastard without blinking. "Where is he?"

"London. That's where his solicitor transferred his money. But he isn't as easy to find as I hoped," Erik replied, glaring down at the ground. "I can't go to London myself, for obvious reasons. Besides, I have Eva and the girls, not to mention Stephan. I can't leave. But _you_ can."

"Me?"

"You, Lacey, and Zachary. I want you to take Lacey to London, and announce her as...as your intended wife. At least that was what I hoped to do before last night," he muttered. "Obviously I will have to rethink my plans, since you have both lost your minds. What in God's name were you thinking compromising her in the middle of a damned ball?"

"I wasn't...thinking. And I certainly had no intention of ever touching her. You have to know that I would never take advantage of her," I argued. "She's not meant for that sort of thing -"

"You're damned right she's not! I swear if you do _anything_ with her, you'll be walking down the aisle whether or not you want to," Erik snarled. "Once she's divorced, of course. And I do mean that, de Chagny. Touch her again...and she's yours forever."

I nodded slowly. I had known this. I had known how devoted he was to her, and how much he would protect her. And I wanted to help her. Free her. I would..._I was surprised by this_...but I would do anything for her. I had seen her beautiful spirit, her wonderful and untamed nature, and I had also seen what she had endured in that hospital. I had met her greasy looking husband, and known he wanted to put her somewhere exactly like Salpetriere. And I wanted to kill him, just for that.

"I'll take her to London. You have my word that I will not dishonor her," I said quietly. "But...she will not be used as bait. I'm keeping her with me at all times. I'm not going to let that bastard anywhere near her."

"Good. And I've already talked with Zachary this morning. If either one of you hurt her - you or her husband - then he has my permission to kill both of you." Erik smirked slightly. "And if you do touch her, you better marry her once the ink is dry on her divorce papers. She's not to be trifled with, and neither am I. Now go talk to her. She has something important to tell you."

- -

On Erik's recommendation I sought Lacey out in the library, where she was absorbed in what I thought must have been the final chapter of _The Agony of Romance_. Either that, or it was so absorbing she felt the need to read it again. Perhaps she didn't quite understand what it meant. Thinking of that was enough to stifle any questions I had for her - unless I wanted to answer some of my own. She looked up - smiled - then blushed, making my heart beat hard inside my chest. I was stunned by my response to her. I had always thought she was beautiful - but never this. Never any desire...except for a few times when I thought perhaps she might be sweet to kiss.

"Raoul," she greeted me warmly, rising and holding her arms open with an impish smile. "How about a kiss hello?"

"Ummm."

"Come on," she grinned, leaning up and kissing my cheek. "We have all the ice broken now. We're alone. There's nothing to stop you..."

"Lacey, last night will not happen again."

"It won't?" Lacey asked, her smile not hiding the hurt in her eyes. "But it should. It was worth repeating, don't you think?"

Caught, I didn't know what to say. This was new between us. For me at least, and she seemed to be poking at me in a different way than before. She'd always been a little saucy. A great deal sarcastic, and often made ribald comments that I shook off as her intending to annoy me. Her comments had taken on a whole new meaning now. And the thousand comments I could recall from the last three years...all of them were swimming in my mind. Had she meant them? Or had she been just as surprised as I to realize there was an electric spark between us? Or had there always been that spark...and I'd failed to notice?

I took her hand, wondering where in the house Erik was. But looking in her eyes, full of a little hope, and a lot of mischief, I knew I couldn't ignore her feelings to save my soul. She was too trusting. Too innocent, despite everything that had been done to her. There was much about my life I knew she didn't understand, and much about hers that I knew I never would. I just wouldn't pursue this. No matter how wonderful it had felt, no matter how much I ached for her now. She wasn't for me. There wasn't any woman I was willing to marry. It wasn't that I still grieved for my wife - though I did. And it wasn't just the guilt of her death, though that was part of it. I just didn't know if I believed in love. After Christine died I changed. I wasn't naive anymore. I didn't think I would, or could, fall in love with someone who would love me back as passionately as I had always hoped. I didn't think that woman existed...and I wasn't the man who had wanted that once long ago.

"I won't deny that what happened wasn't..."

"Erotic?" she suggested, waggling her brows.

I closed my eyes, swallowing hard. I couldn't do this. I couldn't take her to London, because I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off her. "It was that," I managed to agree, my voice rough. "I won't deny it. But it won't happen again."

"Are you sure?" she whispered, running her hand up my arm. "Very sure, Raoul?"

"Stop doing that," I snapped, firmly setting her away from me. "I'm here to apologize to you for last night."

"No."

"Yes I am!" I glared at her and moved back a few steps. "I was drunk, even if you weren't - "

"But not the first time," she cut in sweetly.

"No. Not the first time," I grumbled. "But I didn't know it was you, so it doesn't count. But I will apologize for that as well, even though I think it was your fault. I just don't want to hurt you, Lacey."

"I'm not hurt," she declared, spinning in a full circle. "See? No bruises. I slept like a baby last night! No scary dreams. No bad memories. I felt wonderful! And it was definitely worth repeating. Would you...like to go upstairs?"

"Jesus," I muttered beneath my breath. The only thing I could think to do, was distract her. "Erik says there is something you need to tell me. Has he informed you of his scheme?"

"Yes," she answered, the smile sliding from her face. "What am I supposed to tell you?"

"Something about your past?" I prompted, wondering why she looked a little gray. "Lacey? What is it?"

"Oh that," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Yes. I'm a baron's daughter. And we met one another ten years ago at my father's ball."


	28. Three Years

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

I had half hoped that he would just raise a brow and give a small shrug. That it wouldn't really matter that I had kept it from him. That he could just think of it as something insignificant, and we could pretend that he had always known that I was a baron's daughter. When Erik had told me how he planned to catch Blaise I had been afraid. Then curious. Then an all consuming desire to be free had hit me, and I had wondered..._what would happen if I were free?_ And he had said that telling Raoul about my aristocratic family would cement his plans. I would go to London, not as Diana Soboul, but as an unmarried French lady, engaged to wed the Vicomte de Chagny. It sounded like a great plan to me!

I would step out into the open for the first time, and let everyone see who I really was. It frightened me. But I had proven last night that I was meant to be something other than a chaperon. I wanted...I wanted Raoul. And if it took fighting back for my heritage, then I would do it. That dance all those years ago seemed insignificant compared to what _could be_. To what had happened, and what had almost happened.

I wanted more. So much more, and it had taken a dream coming true to realize that perhaps my dreams went far beyond just one ball. Just one dance. One night. I had felt comfortable around all those people. I had thrived, and I'd had only a taste of what my life should have been like. I wanted more...and I would have more.

Raoul was staring at me as if I had suddenly spoken another language. Or offered something shocking...wait...I had already done that. So...what was it?

"You don't remember me, do you?" I asked, somewhat disappointed. I hadn't really thought he would, mostly because I really didn't look much like I had then. But it would have been...nice. "I was a little fatter, and ten years younger. Picture me in a striped blue and cream gown with far too many ruffles and no shoes. And my hair was down past my waist," I added, fluffing up one side of my rather short curls.

His brow lowered and eyes narrowed. "Who is your father?" he inquired, his voice hesitant.

"My father was Baron Charles de Montausier," I answered, watching him blink slowly, "he was a close friend of Vicomte Jacques de Chagny. One of many, I believe."

"You..."

"Diana de Montausier, former daughter of a former aristocrat. Also, former wife and former mental patient." I grinned, just a tad. Even if it wasn't a heartfelt smile. "At your service, dear Vicomte."

I could see his mind racing, see the exact moment when he remembered me. Or at least my place in society, because he was familiar with my father. His father had died long before mine had, and as the new head of the de Chagny family, my father had been fond of Raoul. I hadn't met him but once, because I was constantly tucked away in a schoolroom somewhere. _But once_ had been enough. I hadn't been able to forget that dance, and now I had many, many more memories in his arms. He had no idea how intertwined he was in my life now. I was determined to have him, one way or another.

"You..."

"Is that all you have to say? _You...? _What happened to the articulate and debonair gentleman who kissed me last night?" I asked, giving him a playful poke in the ribs.

"_Debonair_?" he echoed, looking at me in disbelief.

I let my eyes turn smoldering (or at least that was what I was going for, and not looking like I was allergic to him), and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"You charm me," I whispered, sliding my hands around his waist. "You always have, despite the way you aggravate me to no end."

"Lacey...I don't know what to say," Raoul said gruffly. "I mean...I...would you stop that? It's distracting!"

"This?" I squeezed his sides experimentally, then moistened my mouth. I was shameless, I know, but his reaction was worth it. "You should kiss me right now. It would make me very happy."

"I can't," he replied, though his eyes were on my lips. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

His hand cupped my cheek, thumb brushing close to my mouth but not quite. Blue eyes turned dark, and I knew...I knew that one day he would give in to temptation. What he had felt was real. What I had felt was real, and there was no way he would be able to resist if I pressed him hard enough.

"Why? You know you want to kiss me. _I _know you want to kiss me," I boldly claimed. "So just...kiss me already."

"Erik trusts me, and I'm taking you to London to free you from your previous commitments. And I have sworn that I will not dishonor you. I will protect you, Lacey. Even from myself."

I scowled immediately. Trust Erik to put a damper on my relationship with Raoul proceeding. Part of the reason I agreed to this entire thing was the prospect of spending an unknown amount of time in another country. With Raoul. With_out_ Erik. That idea alone was enough to send me into a swoon. But despite the determined jut to his chin, I would not be deterred.

Nor was I stupid enough to ruin my chances before we set sail for England. I stepped away from him and gave him a perfectly innocent smile.

"So be it. It's your loss," I said softly. "Thank you for being a gentleman."

I could think of other things to call him, and wanted to tell him what I thought of his gentlemanly manners at the moment, but I clamped my jaw shut and said nothing.

"Diana de Montausier," he finally whispered, his eyes taking in my face with an almost wondering gaze. "Charles's daughter."

I blinked, surprised to find tears stinging my eyes. I had thought I was past those ridiculously infantile memories of my father. It wasn't really_ him_ I resented. It was his title...and how the estate had been effectively taken over once he had died, leaving me with nothing. I hadn't been family to the distant cousins who had intercepted a title and holdings from a man they didn't care about. I had been a burden, and they had been glad to be rid of me.

"Don't call me that," I huffed, turning away. "My name is Lacey Chartraine."

"I danced with you."

My heart fluttered inside, but I refused to face him. I had been waiting for this for three years. No...longer. Since I had first spied him dancing with a willowy stranger in my father's ballroom. And that same night, he had caught me peeking through a doorway and offered with a calm and soft voice to dance with me. I had been waiting to meet him again. Wanting it...dreaming of it. And finally at some point I had let go of that dream, but still thought of it every now and then.

Like every time I saw him.

But I wasn't cruel enough to punish him for not remembering me. I loved him enough to let go of my pettiness and just simply...love him.

"Lacey, look at me," he murmured, touching my shoulder.

I didn't, and soon his arms came around me from behind. I leaned against him, feeling safe and comforted...and complete. His chin rested on my head, one arm above my breasts and another on my stomach. We swayed slightly, both of us caught in something beyond a need for words. Beyond lust and desire.

I eventually turned in his arms and just rested my head against his chest, loving it. Loving him, and the feeling so strong my heart felt as if it would explode in my chest. I loved him. I had been infatuated before. I loved him now.

"What happened to you?" he whispered, leaning back until I looked him in the eyes. "Why didn't the new baron take care of you, Lacey? How did you end up married to a man like Blaise Soboul?"

"I was...I was innocent and trusting. And very stupid," I muttered, staring at his chest for a moment. "They allowed him to court me, and then he told them I had...been compromised. I don't think they really cared, because he was after all their nephew. I inherited all my father's money, but they controlled it. And I didn't have much of a choice in marrying him. They took everything."

His jaw tightened as anger took over him. "Your father didn't have a guardian in place?"

"My father was old fashioned. His grandfather's brother's grandchildren were the only Montausiers left, and he believed that was enough. I don't even think he knew them very well, because I certainly never met them until his funeral."

"Thomas Montausier and his wife inherited?" he questioned softly.

"Yes. They had no children of their own, but they had taken Blaise in when Carolina's sister died. They raised him like their own son," I replied, fighting an urge to throw something. "We hated one another on sight. If I had been compromised, it would have been unwillingness on my part, because I never would have let him touch me."

"Not that I wish to bring up troubling memories," he sighed, "but why did you hate each other? If he had known you were the sole inheritor then wouldn't he have at least pretended to get along with you?"

"He hates fat women," I snorted. "And it wouldn't have mattered how he treated me. They always intended for him to marry me so they could take the money. My father never made any sort of will about how I was to be presented to society, and he died before I was old enough. So...they married me off to their nephew who was a doctor, who happened to work at Bicetre. He knew Victor, and the rest of my fate was set only two years after I married him. If Erik hadn't found me, I would still be there."

Raoul looked down at me, his expression livid. "You are not fat."

"I was," I said, arching a brow at him.

"No, you were...are curvy. I remember that much at least," he said softly. "Your father was...portly. And I met your mother a few times when I was a younger man. She was just like you. Beautiful. Willful. She drove your father crazy."

"I would just like to say -"

"Nothing," he said, placing a finger over my lips. "Say nothing. Now that I know who you are, and where Blaise is, everything makes sense."

"It does?"

"The Montausiers moved to London a few years ago. It only makes sense that their greasy nephew would follow once Erik ruined his chances of success here with that book. This means I'll need to leave earlier than I had intended."

I frowned at him, wondering if this was going to interrupt my plans of seduction. "When are we leaving?"

"No, you will stay here for now," Raoul replied, looking at me regretfully. "Zachary will bring you once I have things prepared."

"Things?"

"Trust me," he murmured, then placed a hesitant kiss on my forehead. "Your safety is my first priority. I need to make arrangements with some people I know in London. Then...I will find your husband. And you will be free. I just want to know one thing."

"Yes?" I asked, watching as his jaw tightened, and he squeezed my upper arms tightly.

"Why in the hell haven't you told me about this in_ three_ years?"


	29. Roast

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

My disbelief turned to anger, and I wasn't exactly sure why. Because she had kept it from me, knowing precisely who I was the entire time? She certainly hadn't owed it to me, especially after I said things about her that were very base and foul. And I definitely had no indication that things between us would ever change as they had. Better, or worse, I wasn't sure. But I knew they wouldn't be the same.

"Lacey? Why didn't you tell me?" I asked again, since she didn't seem inclined to tell me.

"I didn't want you to know," she mumbled, extricating herself from me. "There are quite a few reasons, actually. But none of them are your business."

"I beg your pardon?"

"My reasons are not your business," she said plainly. "I wanted to keep it to myself. And if it weren't for Erik's insistence, then I wouldn't have told you."

"Why?"

She gave me a look of pure irritation, and I threw my hands up in frustration. I had no wish to insult her, or try to peer inside her mind. With Lacey there was never any reason to suspect she thought rationally. With any woman, really, but Lacey was one of the most contrary people I had ever met.

"Fine." I resisted rolling my eyes, knowing I was mostly annoyed because I was still hung over. "I need to go speak with Erik anyway. I suppose I will see you in a few weeks."

"Wait!" she called before I could take a step. "A few weeks?"

"London isn't just around the block," I said dryly. "I have to make some arrangements, but I would like to get started on this. What's wrong?"

Lacey's mouth opened, then closed again. "Nothing. I just wasn't expecting this to happen so soon," she finally muttered. "You're leaving today?"

I peered at a clock beside the door, then chuckled. "Seeing that it is nearly six in the evening, and I just rolled out of...bed...three hours ago, I think not. But I will leave in the morning, most likely."

"You just woke up?" she exclaimed. "But...my God. You are a drunkard!"

"No. I am not."

She crossed her arms over her chest, and jutted one foot out. "Really? You were didn't drink so much last night that you overslept, forgot to shave, and what...didn't wake up in your own bed?"

I gave a sheepish grin, rubbing my jaw. "One night of overindulgence does not make one a drunkard."

"No. But how many times in the last three years have you come here looking like this?" she demanded, giving me a prickly smile. "Every single occasion that has been cause for celebration here, you have avoided like a plague. Afterwards you come to offer your apologies, looking as if you've crawled from beneath a rock."

"That isn't true!" I lied, feeling my gut sink.

"It is true," Lacey insisted, frowning at me. "Yes...yes it is! Every Christmas, on Charlotte and Amber's birthdays, when Stephen was born...and oh! Oh! Erik and Eva's wedding! You didn't even come, or offer your congratulations! I remember, because Eva was peeved at you for weeks!"

I sighed heavily. I had always hoped, no, I had_ thought _no one would notice my absence. I was always invited to their celebrations, but it just seemed easier to stay away. I wasn't part of their exclusive and oddly made family. James was the only one I had, and he was too young to notice if his father was blind drunk for days. I knew eventually I would just have to stop. And Jacqueline had been a cure for awhile. A necessary elixir, and one that I had gratefully taken to repress the need to consume alcohol.

But she had not stopped the flow, and at times even she had been disgusted by my tendency to drink and brood alone. It had become a need during the final days with Christine...and now it was a habit I had never really managed to shake. One I wasn't certain I wanted to. I didn't drink year round. I didn't gamble. And I never neglected my son.

But there were days that I became so plowed that I couldn't summon the energy to eat. And days afterwards that I couldn't stomach the smell of food.

If I wasn't careful, I would find that I had turned into a sot.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Lacey. My life is none of your concern."

"I see," she replied slowly. "You want to shelter me from something as small as an insect bite, but I cannot offer you any sort of advice about your obvious problem?"

"No. Because it isn't a problem, and if it were, it wouldn't be yours," I said stiffly. "Lacey, we're friends. Or we can _be_ friends. I'm sorry if I've given you the impression that there will be anything else."

I hated to be cruel, but I had seen something in her eyes. A determination. A scheming look that I found excited me, and made me want to pull her in my arms. To kiss her senseless, and lose myself in her body. And I could see that she had things on her mind other than pleasure...I could see she might believe I would abandon my vow of abstinence and then perhaps fulfill my duty by marrying her. One part was tempting...the other was not. I needed to make certain she understood that I was not going to marry again.

"Pfft." She glanced at me warily. "Like I would ever want to associate myself with a scoundrel like you. You know, I don't think it _was_ worth repeating, come to think of it. I think I could do better anyway."

I swallowed hard, and in that instant of her vehement denial I _knew_. I knew her secrets. She didn't have to say anything, because the slightly tortured expression in her eyes spoke volumes. She'd tried to hide it behind a caustic remark, but for once I saw the hurt, and the love in her eyes.

She was in love with me.

Or at least she imagined herself in love with me. The shock of it was like a blow to the stomach. Like breathing in a warm spring air, then being faced with the most putrid and vilest of fragrances. I didn't want this. Didn't need this. Not just from her. From any woman. I bit back my anger, because I didn't want to humiliate her, and I didn't want to hurt her. But I was angry that she was in love with me.

Because I didn't want her to love me. The thought scared the hell out of me.

"You're right," I said, struggling to hold onto my decency. "You could do better. Much better. I am not really a respectable man anymore. I never wanted this title, you know."

She shot me a surprised look. "Didn't want it?"

"I was perfectly happy in the military until my father passed. It wasn't my intentions to become a family man, or be graced with a reputation for a gentleman. I certainly never wanted to be the subject of every gossip column in Paris and beyond. I was content to stay away from matchmaking mothers and lonely widows. Those society papers have given you a wrong impression of me, Lacey," I said softly. "I lost my wife. I have a son, and I have Charlotte, and that is all. I never go to Erik's family gatherings because I'm not family."

"So you are content to live the rest of your life alone?" Lacey asked, giving me an arched look. "Dallying with lonely widows in your study? Crying into your glass of whiskey? You avoid your future, and you avoid the past, and trust me when I say that if you waste the rest of your life being this...empty and unhappy person, then you really aren't worth knowing. I swore I would not spend one moment of my freedom crying over the past, and for the most part I haven't. You would do well to open your eyes and realize the world still spins without Christine in it."

I stood straighter, feeling anger lash through me instantly. I wanted to yell at her for saying that. I wanted to do much worse to her, because I didn't want to think about that. I didn't want to acknowledge that she was right, and I didn't want to press a hand to my stomach that had suddenly turned to stone. Her remark hurt, and she regretted it, that much I could tell. But she wouldn't take it back, and I couldn't say anything, because what I had in mind would ruin any chance of friendship we had. Her comment nearly had done the job. Anything I had to say would complete it.

"You two just cannot have a civil conversation, can you?" Erik asked from above. I looked up to see him leaning over the balustrade, watching us with an expression of amusement on his face. "I must say, your _friendship_ seems to be off to a rather rocky start. Now I'm not certain if I should allow you to take her to London or not."

"I said I would take her," I said tightly.

"There's no need," Lacey interjected, fixing both of us with a glare. "I think Zachary ought to take me. Actually, if Zachary would just kill him, that would solve all of my problems." She glanced at me, then muttered beneath her breath, "Most of them, anyway."

Erik shook his head slightly, giving us both a pitying look. "If you don't want to go, Lacey, then you don't have to go. I'm sure there is another way to find him."

"I _said_ I would go."

"What is your plan?" Erik asked me, ignoring her hiss of irritation. "You seem to have an idea of what you need to do."

"I have some acquaintances in London. I intend to enlist the help of Robert Blackmore, Earl of Sandwich."

Lacey giggled. Erik blinked at me.

"_Sandwich_?" Lacey repeated. "I'm entrusting my safety to you and the _Earl of Sandwich_?"

"He is a respectable man," I uttered, not smiling in the slightest. "His great-great grandfather was extraordinary fond of food. His name preceded this particular food, by the way."

"Does he...um...?"

"Don't say it," I muttered. "He eats other things, indeed. I've seen him put away more food than a hog."

"Oh," Lacey grinned, then patted her stomach. "Then I believe we'll get along famously."

"Raoul, I would like to discuss your plans with the..._Earl_...in greater detail," Erik said without any hint of emotion. "Perhaps you would like to stay for supper? I believe we're having-"

"Don't!" I warned, feeling a reluctant smile come about.

"Roast."


	30. A Little Problem

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

It was extremely hard to sit across from him and not smack him. Honestly, he had infuriated me, truly made me angry for the first time. It wasn't that he had insulted me this time. He insulted himself, living in denial and regret for the wife he had lost. I knew he drowned his misery and his guilt, but self flagellation had never been my idea of fun. I made up my mind long ago I would not punish myself for what had happened to me. Seeing how long it took Rebbecca to recover only confirmed my belief that I was not meant to sink into depression and subject myself to long bouts of tears.

I had cried my share, and some days I still did. But I would never drink myself into the stupor that Raoul de Chagny had obviously chose to do.

Tonight even, he tilted his wine glass back more often than was absolutely necessary. And smirked at me each time from across the table, as if daring me to say something.

Which I did.

"I hope you fall off your horse on the way home," I said sweetly, my voice just low enough not to be heard by the children at the end of the table. "Maybe it will knock some sense into your thick skull."

"Your compassion astounds me," Raoul murmured. "I truly will regret not hearing your sharp tongue for a few weeks."

"Boozehound."

"Nag."

"_Children_," Erik put in, then shared a laugh with Eva.

"Yes, Papa?" Charlotte asked innocently from the end of the table.

"Nothing," he chuckled. "Finish your plates, then you may go upstairs."

Charlotte and Amber went back to their meals, and Raoul and I stared at one another, equally mulish expressions on our faces. He took another drink of wine, and Erik sighed heavily. I cleverly refrained from mentioning again that I did hope he fell off his horse, and that it left him lying on a busy street. I hoped that when he did he would forget that anything odd had happened today. That there had been an awkward moment when I had tried too hard to convince him that I didn't want to repeat what had happened.

When I had realized that he was obstinate, and might not ever succumb to my charms. If I, in fact, had any. I was worried now that I had revealed too much. Pushed too hard, and given him some indication that my willingness to become his mistress was something more than a desire to receive pleasure.

I wouldn't have let him touch me if I didn't love him. If I didn't trust him. And I did trust him...but I was in danger now of having my heart broken, and my fantasy of him crushed. I was officially reverting to the annoying, sarcastic Lacey, who didn't need to cry on his shoulder or reveal anything tender. Who wouldn't need his sincere kindness and gracious friendship, because she was self-sufficient and independent.

Who could hide. The Lacey who he had known the last three years, and not the sentimental girl he'd discovered in recent weeks.

Given a chance though – I would kiss him again. I would do much more, and without a bit of regret. But afterwards I would likely never see him again, because it was obvious that I might enjoy intimacies with him, but I would never be his wife.

"Raoul, how do you know this Earl, and how do you intend to enlist his help?" Erik asked, pointing the conversation away from the two of us who were still glaring at one another.

"He was a friend of my father's. And of Lacey's father," he replied, tightening his lips.

He just couldn't abide the fact that I had kept that from him. And unless he was willing to accept something more than friendship, there was no way I would tell him how much I had loved his dance. Not his business, indeed.

"Robert will be more than happy to help Lacey, I believe," he continued. "I don't need to tell him everything. But I do know he will help. And I can also find out where Thomas and Carolina de Montausier are living. Blaise shouldn't be far behind."

My stomach tightened just hearing their names, and I set my fork down. The roast had suddenly gone dry and hard in my mouth, and I wondered how I would get rid of it. Raoul gave me a soft look from across the table, making a queer flutter run through my body. I glared at him until he looked away, eager to let him know I wasn't about to be pitied.

"I think I may be able to persuade Robert to allow us to stay with him as his house guests. That should enable us to attend any functions that the Montausiers might be invited to. If they are invited, of course," he murmured thoughtfully. "I don't believe they were well liked in Paris. Everyone loved Charles."

I cleared my throat unexpectedly, and everyone looked at me. "Yes," I offered, mostly to make sure they knew I wasn't about to cry. It was hard to discuss my father so much in one night, when I hadn't spoken of him in several years. "They did."

"Diana," Raoul said softly, looking at me with sorrow.

"I will imbed this fork into your face," I hissed. "Do not call me that."

"I must. For this to work, you will have to be called Diana."

I looked over to Erik, imploring him to help me. It was the last thing I wanted. I had needed these three years to forget the hospital. To try and forget my life before the hospital, and being Lacey Chartraine had offered me a comfort that I didn't want to abandon. It was safer to be Lacey. Safer than anything – even living in seclusion.

If I was Lacey, I was invincible. Diana was weak, and she had been horribly mistreated.

"I'm sorry, Lacey. It might be the only thing that works," Erik said regretfully. "You have to embrace who you were."

I stared down at my plate, fighting back tears. Resentment, and selfishly, betrayal flashed through me. Erik was only trying to help – and I had wanted this before. But now I felt as if he were throwing me into Raoul's arms, and leaving me to my own devices. I half wondered if he was, merely to be rid of me. Or perhaps to end this obsession I had with him.

Maybe at the end of this I wouldn't love him anymore. Maybe I would well and truly hate him.

"I'll try to find him first," Raoul said, sitting back in his chair. "You may not even have to go to London. I'm sorry."

I closed my eyes, tired of hearing apologies from him. It seemed to be all he ever said to me, and it was something that truly had the ability to aggravate me.

"If you can arrange it," I said offhandedly, plucking at the tablecloth. "I think I will retire for the night. Enjoy the rest of your meal."

I left the room quickly, intending to get as far away from Raoul and his apologetic manner, and Erik's knowing and sorrowful expression. I hated that everyone could read me so well. I wanted to crawl in a cave and live out the rest of my days with this humiliating upset of my life behind me. The confidence I'd felt the night before had vanished, and I was once again left alone. And I had never realized until that moment that I really was alone.

I had people who loved me – Erik and Eva. Rebbecca and Zachary. But the one person I wanted to love me didn't. And wouldn't. I felt shattered suddenly, because for a moment I had been given hope, and now it was snatched away.

I felt exposed... and for the first time I wondered if he thought I was damaged, and not worth his time. Not worth him. Or was he just truly intent on punishing himself over the death of his wife and the birth of his son?

I heard footsteps behind me, and I began to walk faster, hoping it wasn't Raoul. Praying it wasn't Erik. Because I was already crying, and I hadn't yet made it to the landing.

"Lacey, wait."

I breathed a sigh of relief when I glanced over my shoulder. It was Eva, and she was alone. She put her arm around me and continued up the stairs, silent until we had reached my room, and I had finally dissolved into tears. Something I hated doing. Something I rarely did – but in the last few weeks I had done without control.

Eva was silent, rubbing my back softly until I was left with merely hiccups and the occasional incoherent rambling about her not needing to stay.

"Shh," she whispered soothingly. "There's nothing wrong with crying, Lacey. Nothing at all."

We were sitting on one of my many sofa's, since my room lacked a bed, and Erik had decided to fill it with other furniture. Neither one of them had ever questioned me about the hospital. Nor Rebbecca. She refused to talk about it, and I had never felt a need.

"You have to do something about Raoul though," she said softly, letting me cry against her shoulder. "This cannot continue, Lacey. You have no idea how much it hurts Erik and I to see you like this."

"It's nothing," I sobbed. "I just...I don't know what to do. I thought I did, and now I have no clue!"

"He won't compromise you," Eva said quietly. "His honor will not allow him to do that. Not without marrying you. And he doesn't want to be a husband again. I'm very sorry, Lacey."

I sniffled, then sat back against the arm of the sofa. "He isn't happy right now. How could a wife possibly make it worse?"

She smiled slightly, then chuckled. "Well, his first marriage wasn't all that wonderful. But he did love her very much. And she was devoted to him. I don't think he sees marriage as an avenue of dreams. It meant everything to Erik to have a wife and a family, and once he attained it, it was everything he thought it would be. Raoul didn't have what Erik has. He had what Erik thought he wanted, but I think both of them realize that Christine wasn't as perfect as she seemed."

"I should just stop," I whispered. "He isn't worth it. He isn't as perfect as I thought he was either. I feel like I've been ripped open, and he can see every ugly thing that was ever inside of me. I hate it that he concentrates on the bad things that happened to me. Raoul wants to see me as a poor, abused woman. Damaged, and...and needing pity. But I don't want that." I glanced up to find her nodding sympathetically. "I want to be normal. I just want to forget that place. I want to show him that I'm not...I'm not the same person that I was."

"How old were you when you married?" she asked gently.

"Seventeen. I was nearly twenty when they sent me to the hospital," I said tonelessly, remembering the stark terror of those first days, then the numbness that inevitably followed. "I remember thinking that I just ought to die. I begged my father's servants to bring me a poison, so that I would never have to endure asylum. Blaise was always threatening to send me there. I think I begged him to kill me as well, but he decided I wasn't worth killing."

"Lacey, you were very young," Eva said carefully. "And sometimes it seems as if you are still rather...young."

"I know," I said, giving her a wan smile. "You don't have to say it. I know I'm immature and impetuous."

"Yes, but...you shouldn't...you shouldn't think that being married to Raoul de Chagny would solve all of your problems. Or his. And trapping him into marriage is certainly not going to make either one of you happy," she finished, giving me a slight pat on the hand. "I know you believe you've abandoned all semblances of being a lady, but you were born a lady. Taking what you want...or what you think you want...isn't going to be half as sweet as winning it. If he falls in love with you, then I wish you the best of luck, and hope that he proposes. Don't encourage him to seduce you, Lacey. Just to prove that you aren't...weak and that you can withstand his touch. And don't think that he isn't interested if he turns you down. I've seen the way he looks at you. He might not have noticed you before – but he's definitely noticed you now."

I breathed a happy little sigh, knowing at least that much was true. I had tried so damned hard to get his attention before. Now I had it. The question was – what did I do with it? And how did I get him to fall in love with me, if seduction wasn't the answer?

It seemed I would have plenty of time – a few weeks in fact – just to think about that little problem.


	31. A Case of Intrigue

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

London was everything I remembered and hated about England. Cold, gray, and raining constantly. It always amazed me, no matter how many times I frequented the shores that it was unchanging. Ten days of rain, and one day of partial sunshine. If you were lucky.

On Eva's insistence I had left James with them, along with his nurse. She wasn't overly fond of staying in a strange house with a stranger man, but I had liked the idea of Charlotte getting to spend some time with James. Selfishly I wanted to remind her that she had two brothers, though she had not yet given an indication that either one of them were of particular interest. And since I would be gone for several weeks, it would give them time to bond. Maybe.

Robert, Earl of Sandwich (and yes, it's hard for me not to laugh), was surprised by my unannounced visit, but was more than willing to help Charles's sweet little daughter exact revenge on her husband. Or just divorce him, if that was all we _really_ intended to do about it. I was eager to set a plan in motion that would put Blaise and I in direct contact. And I would have loved to have done so without the need for Lacey to have come to London, but we had agreed that messages take too long to deliver, and she and Zachary would depart precisely two weeks after I had left, so I kept a low profile until she arrived. During that time she was to have more gowns made up, and hopefully some common sense would seep its way into her brain.

I wasn't certain what had changed between us, or if my heartfelt declaration for friendship had meant something more to her, but her feelings for me were terrifying. I didn't want another woman's devotion. I didn't want to fail at love again. Nearly drowning in guilt now, there was no way I could survive another broken heart. And to be honest, if I did fall in love, I wasn't certain I wanted it to be someone like Lacey. Christine had been melancholy and solemn all the time. Day in, day out. Crying constantly. It was agongizing to have to keep your tone neutral for fear of upsetting someone. To have an expressionless face and guard every single work you ever uttered. I had not been a good husband to her. I was constantly questioning her devotion, and she accused me of not loving her. In truth it had been Erik and Charlotte that had always brimmed beneath our tempers, though it was always unspoken. Christine threw tantrums. Threw things. Called me names. Declared she hated me, then in the same breath that she loved me. I was never certain where I stood with her – and I had blamed Erik for everything. I had ridiculed her for loving him. Loving a monster.

And I had thought that right up until the day he let me back into Charlotte's life. Until the day he'd been beaten outside the gates of the hospital. I had believed he was a monster, and been angry with Christine for tossing him a scrap of affection. Because I thought she loved him more. Honestly, I still don't know if that is true or not. Or if she loved either one of us. It doesn't matter anymore because she is gone, and I don't fight with anyone anymore.

Except for Lacey.

To be fair, Lacey isn't sad and depressed like Christine. But she had been through trauma, and I didn't know if she would ever recover from that or not. I could still see something in her eyes occasionally. A scrap of fear, and a mountain of sadness that I wasn't certain she was going to overcome. Not that I was looking for a wife, and a mother to James, but if I was I didn't think Lacey was the woman for that position. I didn't want to strap myself to another woman with a _delicate constitution_. I didn't know Lacey well enough to determine if she had that or not, and I knew (first hand, and accidentally) that she had a passion and a fire Christine had lacked. I also knew every time you mentioned her husband, father, or the hospital she broke down into tears.

Obviously she was hiding much of her personality behind a wall. It was the wall that gave me concern. And the emotion that was bursting to come through it. She was troubled. She'd been hospitalized, not that it was her fault. But she had been through something horrible, and at a young age. Rebbecca didn't hide her sorrow and pain. She embraced it. Lacey hid it, and so well that at times you would never suspect that there was anything wrong.

Christine had been capable of that as well.

Until she had Charlotte. Then that resolve, and her quiet nature had been replaced by a woman I seldom recognized. A depressed, lonely woman who didn't want my company, and didn't want Charlotte's company, and sometimes didn't even want to leave her bed.

It wasn't like that all the time. And she wasn't always on the low end of a mood swing. Some days she was normal. Some days she was overactive, and nearly drove everyone...for lack of a better word...crazy.

I didn't want back on that roller coaster, and if the last two weeks were any indication of Lacey's true nature, then no, I would not break my vow to Erik. I would not make love to her. And I would not make her my wife. I would be her friend, and hope that was enough.

I would never admit how much I missed her. As much as it surprised me, I did have feelings for her. Not love, I wouldn't imagine. Perhaps not anything more than the fondness I have previously acknowledged. No matter how much her beauty tempted me, I wouldn't act on my impulses. No matter how many dreams I had about that night in my study, and how often I thought of doing it again.

- -

Robert's Countess, Esme Blackmore, was a Frenchwoman who had been pursued at one time by both my father, Lacey's father, and Robert Blackmore, the Englishman who had one her heart. I wasn't certain how or why the three men had remained friends, or at least corresponded with one another through the years, but I wasn't about to question the stability of my parent's marriage, nor Lacey's parents marriage.

Their son Dominick, however, I was not pleased to meet. He was everything I had tried to tell Lacey I _wasn't._ Suave. Confident. In her words, _debonair_. I knew exactly what he was the moment he opened his mouth. A rouge, and a very experienced one at that. As the only heir to the earldom, Dom was cocky, arrogant, and in a not so subtle manner capable of lifting more skirts than a gust of wind.

He was also nearly impossible not to like, especially when he found a willing woman for each of us my first night in London. Not that I was willing, and he hadn't ribbed me much about _that._ But he was personable and clearly devoted to the pleasure of all women. Young, old. Large, small. Married, widowed, single. If they were female, he charmed them.

I knew as soon as Lacey arrived I would have to watch her carefully around him. Her explosive, passionate nature and his one man mission to please every woman in London was cause for concern. Not that he was the only man I would have to keep an eye on. There were men like that everywhere.

Their estate near St. James Park provided me with the opportunity to mingle with many of London's finest, perfectly boring gentlemen. Luckily Dom wasn't as boring as most of them, probably because of his mother's French influence. Robert spent most of his time in his study staring at ledgers, in a manner reminiscent of Charles de Montausier and my father. Dom was more than happy to show me around London and introduce me to several people, and help me reacquaint myself with the most important ones. I was amused to find that Thomas Montausier had been denied membership to all of the gentlemen's clubs.

Mostly because Robert had met with Charles's successor, Thomas, right after their move to London and he had not been impressed. Thomas had been rather coarse, and Carolina had not made things any better. Thomas's reputation in London declined as rapidly as it had in Paris, and the Montausiers were not welcome nor invited to functions of the _ton._

An interesting development, however, was revealed on my seventh day in London. Blaise Soboul was indeed in London. He just was not known as a physician, nor a Soboul. He had assumed the identity of the Montausier's son...not their nephew. And, the banns had been read for the wedding of Blaise Montausier and Lady Emma Wakefield, daughter of the Marquess of Halifax.

Intriguing, to say the least.


	32. The Truth

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

As with Charlotte, James and I had an understanding. Though ours was significantly less complicated, and benefited him much more than me. In exchange for his complete and undivided (and very, very sweet) attention I provided him with chocolate. We had something other than blue eyes and blond hair (and an affection for his father) in common. I had been bribing him to like me since I'd first held him some two and a half years ago, and he'd screamed in frustration right in front of his father. A well placed morsel of chocolate pudding had shushed him, and he had been enamored with me ever since.

I was delighted that Raoul had left him in Erik's hands. There was something about his little face that comforted me, in addition to Stephan's grunts of pleasure while feeding, and the adorable rivalry between Charlotte and Amber that made me long for motherhood. I'd never considered it much until Stephan had been born. I knew for certain I didn't want two girls...God forbid I should be blessed with another Charlotte and Amber. But two boys? That would be perfect.

I didn't delude myself (too much) into thinking that I might become more than a source of chocolate to James. But I did want that. I was twenty five now, and most girls my age knew whether or not they wanted to be mothers. I did, very much. I wanted to exorcise the last of my memories of Salpetriere. Making love to a man and giving birth seemed like the perfect solution. I had one particular man in mind, but I didn't know if that would happen or not. Likely not, but a girl could hope, couldn't she?

In any event, I rushed to have new gowns made under the watchful eye of Madame Ann Marie Amadeus, and persuaded Rebbecca to come with me to London. Erik wasn't particularly thrilled with this development, but he trusted Zachary, and truthfully he had given up on Rebbecca. She and Zachary were inseparable, and once she had made up her mind to come, it was set. She would be my _chaperon,_ as odd as it sounds for a chaperon to have a chaperon. Really I just wanted someone to come with me, and I knew how much she would hate being separated from Zachary.

On my fifth visit to the modiste, Rebbecca and I were trying on gowns for a final fitting when none other than Jacqueline Pochet sauntered into the shop, a wide and mischievous smile on her face when she recognized me.

"Ah, Madame Chartraine," she said gaily. "A surprise to see you here, to be sure. No wonder our gowns were so similar, Madame Amadeus does all of mine."

Madame Amadeus retreated to the back of the shop, a pale expression on her face. I knew then who the other lady was that my gown had been made for. And naturally Raoul had recommended the same dressmaker that his mistress frequented. That was only lightly irritating, and I forgave him because I had not been particularly displeased with that outcome.

I smiled back. "Madame Pochet, you look lovely today. I hope that I can be half as beautiful as you when I travel to London. Have you been recently?"

"Never," she shuddered. "Monsieur de Chagny told me that you were all taking a trip. How delightful. I do hope you enjoy it."

She seemed sincere, but behind her Rebbecca was rolling her eyes. I shot her a look, and continued to nod as Jacqueline informed me that Raoul had stopped by briefly on his way out of town. Glancing over her shoulder at Rebbecca, she lowered her voice, "Did you resolve the _issue_ to your satisfaction, Madame?"

"Not really," I whispered back. "But he did discover the...mistake."

"I rather thought he had," she murmured. "He prodded me with several questions, none of which I answered. I am sorry that things didn't work out."

I nodded, surprised by her tone, and by the compassion in her eyes. But, if she was in love with the man who had called me a pathetic strumpet, then her situation was definitely worse than mine. At least Raoul was a gentleman, if we weren't always civil.

"Thank you," I replied, staring at a deep red gown displayed in the window. "I...I don't know why you helped me, but I do thank you."

"Raoul is a good man," she said carefully. "If you really want to tie him down-"

"I don't!" I exclaimed. "I mean, I would never force him..."

I trailed off, thinking that was precisely what I had intended to do before Eva had talked with me. I didn't want to manipulate him, or bind him to me by less than honorable means. I just wanted him, and if he didn't want me then I would let him go. Revert back to my original plan of not seeing him again, and continuing on with my life. I would be free after this...and if he didn't fall in love with me by the time we returned to Paris, then I was going to adopt that plan. Seeing him and not being with him was torture. I had never been fond of that sort of punishment. I wasn't going to let anything stand in the way of moving on with my life.

I would marry one day. If it wasn't him...then I would find someone else. And I would know that this time I had Erik's protection, and he would never let anyone hurt me again. I trusted Raoul. Somehow I would find someone else to love and trust.

The problem was that I didn't_ want _to. I loved him. I wanted him.

But I would not spend the rest of my life begging for his love. I had done that long enough.

"He is a good man," Jacqueline repeated softly. "He's also obstinate, and often inconsiderate, and he drinks far too much."

"I know!"

She smiled inscrutably, "Yes, well, he has reasons. Men take burdens and responsibility so seriously. He takes too much blame upon himself. I do hope he can let go of the past, and I wish you well in that regard. I think he rather needs...pushed."

"I think I've pushed too far already," I said dryly. "But thank you for the advice."

Jacqueline raised a brow, and turned her attention to the gown in the window. "You know, I think this would be perfect for you."

"Red?" I asked, staring dubiously at the low-cut dark red gown.

"I had one similar," she said confidentially. "It was one of my favorite's. Sadly it was...ripped beyond repair."

My eyes widened at that implication, combined with a flash of jealousy. "Oh?"

"You should have Madame Amadeus complete this one for you," Jacqueline answered wickedly. "I think it will suit you perfectly."

The ever present modiste came bustling out of the back, proclaiming that she had always intended it for me. And with one look at myself in that dress, I knew that red was most certainly becoming on my figure.

It wasn't that I still intended to seduce Raoul. But it had always been my intent to let him suffer...if that were possible. If not, then let the men of London suffer. And I hoped I at least got one look at my husband while I was decked out in some beautiful dress. As long as I had Raoul or Zachary next to my side, I would be safe.

As long as I was Lacey, and not Diana, I would be safe.

- -

Erik let us leave with great misgivings. A half second after I had gotten seated into the carriage he had yanked me back out and embraced me hard, whispering in my ear that he loved me, and to be safe. It had made me cry, and Eva had cried, and I had continued to sniffle all the way to pick Zachary and Rebbecca up. The sail to Dover was filled with excitement for me, and quite a bit of nausea for Rebbecca. I was ecstatic to be leaving France for the first time since I had been a girl. I'd been to Italy once, and Germany twice, but other than a week long visit in Spain I had never left the country. And I'd certainly never been anywhere in the last fifteen years.

England was a bit dreary, but I was determined to enjoy every moment until I was forced to confront my past. And to look forward to seeing Raoul again after four weeks of his absence. I had missed him, but of course that wasn't an uncommon feeling for me. I wasn't certain if he had missed me though, and that was a little worrisome. I hoped he hadn't been counting his moments of freedom from me, and instead tried thinking that perhaps he missed me...just a little. I worried that I was becoming nothing but a nuisance to him. An annoying pest that he was eager to be rid of. He desired me, yes, but maybe that wasn't an uncommon thing for him. Maybe he was desperate after all the months without Jacqueline.

Maybe the study had been fun for him, because he thought I was someone else, and the ball room incident had been erotic because he'd been intoxicated. Or maybe the closer I got to seeing him again, the more I worried that things would never resolve themselves. And that at the end of this adventure, I would have to keep the promise I had made to myself to move on. Something I was not looking forward to doing - but despite the activities in the study, what did we really have between us? Other than my devotion, of course? The moment we arrived in London I began to get nervous, and the further we traveled to our destination the higher strung I became.

The Blackmore's lived in a quaint, beautiful district that Zachary informed us with a disgruntled sigh was Mayfair. I gathered that this was a rather upscale neighborhood by the irritated twist to his mouth, and the way he immediately began to fidget when we pulled into the Blackmore's residence called Clandon House.

The butler, undoubtedly having been informed of our odd traveling party, immediately showed us inside to where Raoul stood next to a rather portly man (who I assumed to be the Earl of Sandwich), and a buxom and obvious French woman (the Countess of Sandwich?). On entering, a tall, dark complected man stood and bowed slightly, lifting his eyes to mine with a roving gleam to them.

"Diana," Raoul said warmly, looking straight into my eyes as he crossed the room. I held my breath as I studied his face, as he took my hands in his, and a million butterflies moved throughout my body. Then I realized what he had said. He'd said Diana.

I stiffened, forgetting that he would be calling me thus. "Vicomte," I replied, allowing him to press a kiss to each cheek, and not feeling just a little flutter at that slight contact. Had his eyes always been so blue? Somehow they had dulled in my mind in the last four weeks. I hadn't remembered them being so startlingly clear. Hadn't recalled the dark cresent fringe of his lashes, nor the way his mouth curved into an automatic - if slightly strained - smile.

"Was your trip pleasant?" he asked quietly, glancing over to Zachary to appease his worries, then back to me.

I barely nodded before he was introducing me to Robert, the Earl; Esme, the Countess, and Dominick Blackmore, their son. Who had alternated fascinated glances between myself and Rebbecca until Zachary had bowed up like a possessive stallion and placed his arm around her, drawing her tightly against his body.

I introduced Rebbecca quickly as my chaperon, and Raoul volunteered Zachary as a footman. It was obvious on the part of the Blackmore's that Zachary was most certainly not a footman. And if he was as popular of a boxer in London as he was in Paris, the Blackmore men probably already knew who he was, though neither one commented.

I wondered briefly if we might be ruining Raoul's reputation, but we all smiled gamely at one another until Zachary led Rebbecca from the room, leaving me with a nervous Vicomte, and three very curious Blackmore's.

"So," Esme began politely, "you have come seeking an errant husband?"

I glanced at Raoul, and he nodded his head slightly. "Yes," I replied dutifully, unsure of what he had told them.

"Raoul has said that once the man is found, and your divorce has gone through he will begin a proper courtship," Esme continued, looking still very curious. "We are delighted to meet you, Diana. Robert and I both knew your dear father quite well."

"You did?" I asked, looking at Raoul narrowly. He hadn't exactly been forthcoming with information about the Blackmore family, nor any ties to my father. "I wasn't aware."

Esme smiled, then gave her husband a sly glance when he harrumphed. "Yes, you might say that we were all rather well acquainted. My husband and your father hadn't seen each other in years, but they corresponded frequently. Robert also kept in contact with the Vicomte de Chagny after his father passed away. Raoul did well to remember he had such influential friends here in London."

"Then I must thank you for helping me," I said simply, glancing over at Raoul, who was staring at his feet. "Would you mind very much if I asked the_ dear Vicomte_ to show me around your lovely home? I feel as if I'm at a disadvantage here, with absolutely no knowledge of what he has been doing the last few weeks."

The Earl cleared his throat, sending his wife and son from the room with polite farewells, and Dominick Blackmore bending over my hand far longer than was customary to place a kiss across my knuckles. And if I wasn't mistaken, he had lightly stroked my wrist before releasing me with a devilish grin. When I returned my attention to Robert and Raoul they were exchanging wordless looks that men do whenever they are trying to keep a female unaware of important things that females ought to know.

"Well?" I asked, crossing my arms and staring at both of them. "Which one of you will I have to beat the most to get the truth? Have you found him yet?"

- -

Forgive me for speeding this story up a bit. I'm having a little trouble with it, but I will finish it if it kills me. And I've been trying to learn a bit about London and more about the peerage of the UK so I don't sound completely ignorant. If anyone notices anything weird or just plain wrong about my story, let me know. I've never been outside of the US, so there is probably alot wrong with my story. But I'm learning! Or at the very least trying!


	33. No Longer a Comfort

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

"I beg you pardon," the Earl asked frankly, staring at Lacey. "Beat us?"

I suppressed a groan, and speared Lacey with a glance to silence her. "You will have to forgive her, my lord. She is a very outspoken young lady."

Lacey's eyes rolled over to me, and I swore she bit back a retort. But that wasn't really like her, so she must have felt indisposed, which explained the odd expression on her face. "Yes, my lord, I have forgotten my manners. Travel does that to one, doesn't it?" she replied, giving us each a hearty smile.

Robert didn't seem to agree, nor disagree, but eventually nodded. "I have chosen not to reveal everything to my wife and son," Robert said quietly. "To them, you are Madame Diana Soboul, and you are seeking your husband, and after your divorce, the Vicomte will begin courting you. To the rest of London, however, you are Mademoiselle Diana Montausier, and you _are_ engaged to wed the Vicomte de Chagny. I would not be pleased if a scandal were attached to my name, Madame."

"I understand, my lord," Lacey replied solemnly. "I will do my best not to embarrass you."

Robert harrumphed loudly. "None of that, gel. You aren't an embarrassment. You're Charles's daughter, and I am more than happy to aid you in resolving this issue. I just wish he'd had a little more common sense when he decided to give the reins over to Thomas and his whining wife. Such things are common here, but not as necessary in France these days. You should have inherited, by God, no matter what society would have said."

Lacey's eyes widened, and she glanced from me to Robert. "Thank you, my lord," she returned, clearly surprised.

"Robert, I need to speak with Diana alone if you don't mind," I said, interrupting any further conversation with them. The Earl thought he knew everything about the situation, but there were some things even the Earl didn't know about Lacey. Namely, that she was known to everyone as Lacey. And the business about the hospital had been tamed down considerably. I didn't want anyone hurting her worse than she already had been - and Blaise wouldn't dare breathe a word about her past. His own current situation would see to that.

"Of course," he shrugged, then bowed politely to Lacey, not lingering nearly as long as Dominick had. "I will send a maid to wait outside the doors, and she will show you to your room Diana."

Lacey murmured a thank you, then faced me, her face strained and not at all what I expected from her. She looked tired, and worried, and I could see that she was stressed from the complete disruption of her life. I hadn't really known what she would be like once she arrived. I had hoped she would use a little restraint, and hopefully forget about what had happened between us. One of us needed to, in any case. And I hoped that I was wrong about her feelings for me. Right now, it was a little hard to tell.

"Where is he?" she asked quietly.

"Here in London," I answered cautiously. "I haven't encountered him yet. I don't think he has wanted to come out in public much, possibly for fear of being recognized as a fraud."

"Fraud?" Lacey repeated, slowly sitting down. "Has he...is he...?"

"He's taken the Montausier name, Lacey. He's pretending to be Thomas and Carolina's son, and they are trying to swindle an elderly Marquess and his daughter, Lady Emma Wakefield. They announced the banns two weeks ago. That means we have one week to come up with something," I said, watching as she shrank a little, and her face paled. I hesitated a moment then sat down next to her. "Lacey, are you sure you can handle this?"

"Of course," she snapped. "Why couldn't I?"

"I just want to be certain," I replied, resisting the urge to touch her. To bring her comfort. I _had_ missed her. It was a surprise, though we had gone for longer periods of time without seeing one another. I wasn't sure if it was a relief or a disappointment that I was glad to see her. Perhaps relief that I could tolerate her presence, and disappointment that I had wanted her company. "Dom thinks we ought to break up the wedding party during the ceremony."

"No. It would humiliate that poor girl," Lacey said, frowning. "She doesn't deserve that. What do you know about her?"

"Dom knows her. Says she's a rather eccentric woman, which is why she hasn't married yet. And she's considered a spinster, if twenty eight is what the English consider on the shelf," I said wryly. "If that's true, then I'm on the last row behind the classic literature."

Lacey's mouth wobbled for a moment as she fought a smile, but her cheerful nature got the best of her. "Funny, I would have pictured you behind _Lessons in Diplomacy_ and _How to Bore the British."_

"My manners are reserved because I am guest here," I informed her, watching as she rolled her eyes. "The British already have odd ideas about us, Lacey. We don't need to invite further gossip, or-"

"Of for Pete's sake, I was joking," she retorted, poking me in the shoulder. "Don't start on me, Vicomte. I'm already nervous, I don't need you hounding me as well."

I watched as she rubbed at her temples, giving a rather loud sigh of frustration. "Why are you nervous?" I finally asked, afraid that if I touched her she would begin clinging to me, and I wouldn't be able to resist kissing her. I didn't like seeing her like this. I didn't want her to be unhappy, and I worried that the stress of coming to London and hunting down her husband was asking too much of her. "Your blood is just as noble as theirs."

"It isn't that," Lacey muttered. "Just forget it. How are we going to prevent this girl from marrying him? And how are we going to...good Christ, this is a mess. I hate him. Can't we just pay someone to assasinate him?"

"Tempting. And I would do it for free, Lacey."

"What have you told the Sandwiches about me?"

"The Blackmore's," I reminded her patiently. "Sandwich is their title. Not their name."

"Just answer the question, Vicomte."

"I told them you are Charles's daughter, and that you were swindled out of your fortune and inheritance by the Montausier's. I didn't tell them about the hospital. The Sandwich ancestors have a truly nutty woman in their family tree, and a murdered mistress lurking up there as well. And I wasn't keen on anyone knowing your history." I couldn't resist covering her hand, and was disturbed by the way my nerves fired up at her touch. "No one needs to know but us. I didn't even tell Robert."

"The Montausier will do that for you," Lacey whispered, slowly removing her hand from my grasp.

"Not if they don't want to answer for the scandal that will explode around their own family. And not to mention that Blaise is intending to commit bigamy."

"He thinks I'm dead, possibly," she offered softly.

"No. If he thought that, he never would have pressed Alencon, and my meeting with him never would have happened. My guess is that since the Marquess is elderly, and not in the best of health. Blaise has found an opportunity to gain a title and a fortune. And likely Halifax is trying to marry off his daughter in hopes to produce an heir before he dies. Even if it is to who he believes is a Vicomte's son. And a Frenchman to boot," I murmured, wondering just how old Halifax was.

"You won't let anything happen to her, will you?"

I blinked, surprised by her concern for the other woman. "You mean Lady Wakefield? Of course I won't. We will find a way, Lacey. I promise."

She seemed genuinely upset, and I curled my hand into a fist to keep from pulling her in my arms. Lacey seemed to be trying to fight her instincts to taunt me the way she had in the past, and I had to keep my end steady as well. Otherwise we would both lose our heads, and with no one to interfere except Zachary. And I doubted he would do anything discreetly.

"Lacey? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I...I think I'm ready to see my room," she mumbled, turning her face away from me. "Perhaps we can talk later."

"Something is bothering you," I insisted.

"Vicomte-"

"Raoul," I corrected automatically.

"It isn't my intention to insult you, but I would greatly appreciate it if you would not pry at me," she said tightly. "My feelings and my thoughts belong to me. They aren't your business, and if I need to talk to someone I brought Rebbecca along for just that purpose."

I drew back, not expecting this suddenly icy attitude from her. Not after the study...not after we had agreed to be friends. Or was that just it? Was I pressing into matters that I had resolved not to get into with her, and she was warning me off? It had never been my intention to hurt her, but obviously I had. And I couldn't say anything to her, because that would mean pulling her feelings out into the open. Neither one of us was ready for that. What little bond we shared would be destroyed, and I didn't want to hurt her worse.

"I'm sorry," I replied, feeling helpless. I felt like I was dealing with Christine all over again. Unsure of what to say, and damned uncertain what to do. Nothing was right, and everything was wrong, and absolutely nothing could please her. "If you need anything though..."

"I won't." She gazed at me for a moment, her expression sad and regretful. "Thank you for your help. I know I must be a burden."

"No, Lacey," I whispered, swallowing hard. "You aren't a burden. Can't we just...?" Forget everything? Go back to the way things were? Except they hadn't been all that great. We had sniped at each other constantly the last three years, and I had always gotten a laugh out of her antics. What if she had always wanted more? What if every conversation we ever had was based on something I hadn't even realized? God, I really hadn't meant to hurt her. I wished that I had been a little more observant and realized that it wasn't Jacqueline in the study with me. And that I didn't feel an overwhelming urge to pull Lacey across my lap and kiss her until we both stopped breathing and thinking, and this awful, awkward current that had been running through us since I had realized she had feelings for me.

"I have to go," she said softly, moving towards the door. She turned back for a moment, as if to say something, then abruptly changed her mind. With a look of defeat, she finally left.

I silently cursed the thing that I had not wanted to happen – that had in fact happened. We were no longer comfortable with one another. And probably never would be again.


	34. One de Chagny

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

I cursed my nervousness as I followed a housemaid to my room, my spirits lifting only slightly when I noticed the adjacent (and enclosed) sitting room that was separate from the bedchamber. At least I wouldn't have to lurk in the hallway until everyone had retired for the night to find somewhere to sleep.

I was angry with myself for not thinking of anything to say to him. One touch...that was all it had taken. One touch, and I had felt my composure shatter.

_By the way, I ran into Jacqueline_...now _that _wasn't too obvious.

_I enjoyed spending time with James while you were away, and he did the cutest thing, but you really ought to teach him bogey's aren't for eating. Chocolate tastes better..._

That made me sound desperate to prove something to him, and like a bid for attention that I wasn't prepared to deal with.

_Kiss me..._

Definitely wouldn't work.

With nothing left to say to him, and with a million things I wanted to say but couldn't, it became imperative that I push him away. He had kept at me, trying to get me to reveal some inner thought. Some fear. A desire. But I knew he wasn't going to welcome any affection from me, and the thought of being finally and permanently rejected by him was something I wasn't prepared to deal with. If I needed to move on, I would. Eventually. But I wasn't ready now. I wanted to enjoy our time together in London, if it was even possible now.

I prayed that I hadn't ruined everything, and I was grateful when Rebbecca entered the room and noticed immediately that I was in a sullen mood.

"The Vicomte isn't ready to pledge his devotion?"

"Very funny," I muttered. "Where's your bodyguard?"

"Downstairs, talking with that Dominick man," she sighed. "I don't know why I bother. Ten minutes here, and he's already planning on taking a match with him later. If he wanted beat so badly, I could have done it."

"Maybe he'll take on Raoul," I said, brightening a little. "Then I could tend to his poor, wounded black eye."

"You're pathetic."

"I know. I can't help myself."

Rebbecca walked over to the floor length window and peered out, smiling a little at the gray sky. "You know, I think that Dominick could prove useful to your cause."

I eyed her with suspicion. Rebbecca, for all her serious and nearly black moods, was a schemer at heart. It had been her idea – after all – to steal a kiss from Raoul while wearing a mask

"How so?" I questioned, curious.

"A little jealousy never hurt anyone," she said, arching a brow at me. "If he is feeling anything at all for you, it would be quite obvious."

I studied the pattern on the carpet, knowing it wasn't in my heart to do that to Lord Blackmore. I would feel terrible, even if he weren't an obvious rake. It wasn't my nature to do that to men...and I hadn't the experience to carry it off anyway.

Of course, if he was inclined to spend time in my company, who was I to complain? He was certainly handsome, almost reminding me of Erik with his dark hair, and pale eyes. He wasn't as tall as Erik, though few men were, except Zachary.

"Well?" Rebbecca prodded. "Will you do it?"

"Probably not," I sighed. "It would hurt too much if he didn't care."

"What if Lord Blackmore decided to pursue you anyway? Would you let him?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

I stared at her, not recognizing this bold version of Rebbecca. Had things developed between her and Zachary? Not that I had noticed, caught up in my own little world, but they hadn't acted any differently in front of me on the trip here. Nor any other time.

"What?" Rebbecca frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Did you kiss him?" I blurted out.

She blushed, and her mouth fell open. "Why...why? Is...I mean, can you tell?"

"I can now," I said dryly, then beamed at her. "What was it like?"

Rebbecca blinked, then slowly moved to a chair, quite unsure what to do with her hands. "It...uh. Lacey, you cannot tell Eva about this. You cannot tell anyone."

"You know that I won't."

She took a breath, closing her eyes. "It was terrifying. I was scared to death. I...I asked him to kiss me, and he...he said no."

"He said no!" I exclaimed, moving to sit beside her. "What did you do?"

"I asked him again," she whispered, her hands shaking a little. "And he kissed my cheek. At first. Then...then my lips, and then he held me for a long time and let me cry."

"Oh, Rebbecca." She sniffled, then brushed my hands aside when I tried to hug her.

"No, no. I'm fine," she said softly, her voice hard and throat tight. "It was sweet, and he was very gentle. We've tried...other things, but I'm just not ready. I don't know if I c-can."

I had told Rebbecca about what happened with Raoul, and why I needed her to come with me on this trip. And she had been curious about my..._ahem_...experience, which I had shared in as great of detail as I could without causing us both to blush. Not that_ that_ was possible. But I had made it clear that it wasn't always painful...and it didn't make you feel disgusting and dirty. Not when it was with someone you loved and trusted.

"You love him, don't you?" I asked gently.

"I do," she whispered. "And I...I think he feels the same. We're just not sure what to do about Erik and Eva."

"I don't think you should worry about them," I said, giving her a hug even though she didn't want one. "I think you ought to do whatever you want."

"You would say that," she grumbled. "You don't care about what people think."

Not usually, I agreed silently. But there were a houseful of people that I did need to care about. And one man in particular, though I didn't think impressing him with good manners would get me very far. He already knew what I lacked, and would probably find any attempts I made to act normal as very funny, indeed.

Perhaps cozying up to Lord Blackmore wasn't such a bad idea. Even if he would one day be the Earl of Sandwich.

- -

Esme was a delightful woman, and was kind enough to seat me next to her rather handsome son, and across from my fake intended husband. I wasn't unaware of the look of interest that Dom cast my way, nor the look of annoyance on Raoul's face. But surely that was him attempting to protect me, and not him staking any sort of claim. I smiled widely at Lord Blackmore each time he said something, and gave him and his mother my undivided attention.

"You know, Diana, your father was something of a scoundrel when he was a young man," Esme said, winking at her husband who had cleared his throat. "I do believe I broke his heart once or twice, not accepting his suit. He was a very persistent man, your father."

Papa, a scoundrel? Not hardly. He...like me...should have only terrified a cookie, or a left-over piece of cake.

"Were you very old when your mother died?" she asked, looking at me with a kind and compassionate face, wizened by her own years of motherhood. No doubt caused by the palpations her son caused when he was looking at other women like he was at me.

"Seven," I said softly. "Then Papa, barely nine years later. We went traveling for a long time after she died."

"You did?" Raoul asked, speaking for the first time since dinner had begun.

I nodded, surprised he had asked. "For almost three years. We spent a lot of time in Italy and Germany, and some Spain. But mostly we traveled up and down the coast of France. He didn't like spending time in our home," I replied, remembering the sadness my father had gone through, then the massive amount of weight he had gained upon returning home. He'd eaten so much he had to order a new wardrobe almost every year.

Wisely, I kept those facts to myself as I wondered what dessert might be.

"I understand," Raoul said absently, staring at his empty wine glass with a quizzical expression on his face. As if he couldn't imagine how on earth it had gotten that way. I also wisely kept from mentioning anything about that.

The table fell silent for several moments, until Esme loudly clapped her hands. "Enough of this talk! Diana, you must tell us more about yourself. Where did you make your debut?"

"I...didn't. I was married by that time," I answered carefully.

"But did you prepare for it?" she prodded, smiling at me in a way that told me she was not being cruel. "I always wanted a daughter."

"Sorry, Mother," Dom sighed, earning a chuckle around the table. "I've told you time and again that I would try on a dress, if only to make you smile."

I laughed, picturing the man. "In a lavender frock, perhaps?" I teased, smiling when he batted his eyes at me.

I noticed that not even his father could withhold a smile, and knew this man was indeed dangerous to a lady's heart. If not her...petticoats.

"I did take extensive lessons," I finally answered. "Papa had three separate tutors for me, just to teach me to dance. I learned all those other boring things as well. Sums, literature, world history, all the other nonsense they feed us."

"Amen," Dom announced, earning a reproachful look from both of his parents. I shook my head, glad to find someone who shared my sympathy.

I noticed the Countess still looking at me with interest, so I continued, "But I loved my dancing lessons the most. My father loved to dance, and he said that it was my mother's favorite thing to do."

"Your father was a good dancer," Esme murmured, giving her husband an apologetic shrug. "Poor Robert. He never understood his appeal, hence his unabashed grumblings about any reminders of my former suitors."

"I'm sure you had many, my lady," I replied, then patted the Earl's hand impulsively. "You are too kind, letting your wife indulge in memories of younger times. Most men would be insanely jealous."

He blinked at me. "I_ am _insanely jealous," he replied stoically, then surprised me with a sly grin. "But her suitors were all in France. That is why my dear Esme is all the way in England."

I smiled and laughed, and chatted the rest of the way through dinner, enjoying the company of the Blackmore's. Devouring stories of my father as a younger (and apparently vigorously active) man, and a few about Raoul's father, which he didn't seem particularly interested in.

But every time our eyes met, my stomach would lurch, and I would have to look away quickly. I mourned the loss of friendship, and railed against this sudden, awful contention between us. We had always been at ease with one another, even if we were arguing or swapping meaningless insults. Now it seemed that every time I looked at him I was reminded of that night in the study, and the subsequent moments in the shadows of a crowded ballroom. And the not so subtle way he had told me that he would not repeat those same things.

It was not easy to look at him and maintain a polite expression. To not lower my eyes any further than his nose, nor give any indication that there was a rather explosive churning in my body that was frankly a little frightening.

I might have accepted Dom's invitation after dinner for a tour of the house a little too quickly, but it was not my intention to make Raoul jealous. It was actually a rather desperate case of needing to be away from him.

The three Blackmore's I could handle. But one de Chagny was enough to drive me insane.


	35. Pie Faced

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

Watching Lacey disappear into the eastern wing of the house with Dom, Lord Blackmore was hard. If it hadn't been for Rebbecca trailing behind her, a dutiful chaperon, then I would have accompanied them. Or at the very least persuaded Zachary to have done so. As it was, he stood staring after them right beside me, and I knew he was concerned about the women being in the presence of a man he didn't know.

"He's alright," I said quietly. "Lord Blackmore may have a less than stirling reputation for womanizing, but his women are always willing."

Zachary grunted slightly. "Yes, it isn't him that concerns me. Lacey is quite impulsive. Besides, Becca will beat the stuffing out of him if he accidentally misplaces one of his hands. The woman has a bat up her skirts."

"A...what?"

"A bat," he repeated, then held his hands approximately two feet apart. "A very sturdy, solid oak bat. I taught her how to defend herself, and believe me she can use it."

I hesitated a moment, then asked, "Did you teach Lacey?"

"I tried. She doesn't have the anger that Becca has," he said quietly. "I don't think she needed to earn her independence as much as Becca. Lacey believes that Erik will protect her no matter what happens, and that is enough for her."

"He would. So will I, if it becomes necessary."

Zachary shifted his weight slightly, then fixed his silvery eyes on me. "I won't say this again, but you will respect her, and you will honor her while she is under my protection. And I will also caution you that those two females," he pointed a large finger down the hall, "are trouble. More than you could possibly know. If you don't want to be tied down to Lacey, then I will suggest that you make it clear to her soon."

"Meaning?" I demanded.

"Meaning the two of them put together have as much sense as a gaggle of geese," Zachary muttered. "I wouldn't put anything past them. They...talk a great deal in my presence."

"Talk about what?" I asked warily, almost certain I didn't want to know.

He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his ear for a moment. "Ah, well. It's nothing I will repeat. And nothing I ever wanted to hear. I never knew women could be so...explicit. Sometimes they forget that I'm around."

I eyed him for several moments, quite sure that he wasn't the sort of man to blend with the draperies. The idea of Lacey sharing what had happened between us was God-awful embarrassing. I only hoped...prayed...that she wasn't as open with Erik. Just knowing that Zachary knew intimate details was enough to drive me mad. And I couldn't say anything to her, unless I wanted to start another war between us. "I hope you will disregard anything you've heard. Especially in the last five weeks. Or so."

"I couldn't possibly imagine why," he grumbled, then stared down the empty hall. "You're sure this Lord Blackmore won't hurt them?"

"He's a gentleman."

"That doesn't mean a damned thing to me, de Chagny. Gentleman or not, he's a man, and he's got a rod just like mine. Though...," he smiled, "I'd wager that mine is bigger."

I resisted glancing around to see if the Earl or his Countess were in the vicinity. "Zachary, please do not say _rod_ in this house. Or...anything else that might resemble or refer to your..._rod_."

He chuckled slightly, giving me the idea that he wouldn't mind saying something else entirely more vulgar. Esme, despite being French, was a lady. And contrary to the belief that the rest of the world had about French women being less ladylike and more...street-walker like, it just wasn't true. I knew for certain my mother had never said the word_ rod_. And if she had...I was glad I didn't know about it.

"It's your call, de Chagny. I think you ought to have a word with Lacey though, because she was repeating the word _fornicate_ often enough to turn the head of every person aboard the _Victorian Mist_."

- -

Dominick found me later that evening in the drawing room, contemplating my second glass of whiskey. In a way, I was almost too depressed to drink. Which was rather depressing. I didn't really want to drink, which wasn't all that uncommon. Usually the times I felt this way ended with a few hours of Jacqueline's company, then slipping home to an empty bed. I'd never stayed an entire night with her. With any woman, really. Christine and I had not shared a bedchamber, and my visits with her usually ended with me going to my own room because I couldn't summon the will to stay.

It was not easy making love to a lifeless woman, and in all honesty, I had spent most of my time performing that procedure myself.

"You're in a surly mood," Dom said good naturedly. "I'm rather surprised. If a woman that beautiful was willing to marry me, I would possibly die of happiness."

"You want to marry?" I asked doubtfully. "From what I hear, there aren't enough apron strings in the world to tie you down."

He shrugged slightly, pouring himself a brandy. "I will marry someone in the next two or three years. Family duty, and all that. I just haven't found the right woman." Dom turned and grinned shamelessly. "But I've plowed my way through half of London. I'm sure I'll find her, eventually."

I shook my head, glad I had never followed the lead lamb like he obviously had. Boys were expected to marry, and marry well. Be honorable. Behave with gentlemanly manners. But...above all...you ought to be man enough to seduce even the most resistent scullery maid. I never had the stomach for that sort of thing. My one attempt to grope a maid had led to her slapping me an unknown number of times, and I had felt so guilty I'd never done it again. Nor to any woman, except for kissing a few willing ladies at social events...and that infamous garden party where I had gotten my hands full of Jacqueline Pochet.

She had gotten me through many lonely nights...all in my imagination, of course...before my marriage, and afterwards. It was still somewhat of a shock to me that she had accepted my attentions. And a rather unfortunate turn that she decided they were not longer welcome. It certainly didn't make desiring Lacey any easier, but I would not succumb to the sort of life that Dominick enjoyed. I didn't think I had the energy to charm that many women - or the experience.

"No wonder you didn't want to visit Bella and Chloe," he said, arching a brow. "If a woman like Diana Montausier looked twice at me..." He let out a low whistle, and from the set of his jaw I could tell what he was thinking. The same thing I had been thinking almost constantly for the last few weeks, and, well, alright. _Constantly_ since she had arrived.

"She's off limits," I said, keeping an even tone. "Completely off limits, Blackmore."

"Understood," he answered, still grinning. "I like her little chaperon too. She's feisty."

"Zachary will rip you apart if you touch either one of them. I wouldn't advise you to even flirt with them."

He tsked loudly. "Well. It's too late for _that_. I suppose I ought to lock my door tonight. I'd hate for him to break any bones."

"You wouldn't survive," I muttered. "I don't think anyone would."

"I know who he is," Dom said slowly. "He fights any one of us blue bloods who want to take a shot at him. Has for years, and earned quite a purse from it."

"Good then. You know exactly what you'll step in, if either one of them becomes displeased with you."

He gave me a wry grin, a symbol of his confidence that no woman would be displeased with him, no matter what he did. "Well, what do you say we go out and find a pie, plant our faces in it, and contemplate the joys of having two very beautiful, and untouchable women under the same roof? Then," he added with a smirk, "you might tell me why your future betrothed would rather talk about my dead ancestors, than answer even one question that relates to you."

"Pie-faced it is," I said, reluctantly pulling myself out of the chair. "As long as it doesn't involve discussion or even the mention of women. Especially my...future _betrothed_."

- -

Please point out errors. Thanks!


	36. Bleeeeaaaahhhh!

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

The sound of retching was unmistakable in the hallway. Rebbecca and I glanced at one another, then two doors down as a maid came out of a room, quickly removing her thumb and forefinger from her nose when she spotted us.

"Is someone ill?" Rebbecca asked, servant to servant, since it was probably against some British law for a servant to speak directly to me.

"The Vicomte is feeling poorly," the maid said, giving us both a sheepish grin. "He came in early this morning, with Lord Blackmore."

"Oh?" I asked, striding forward. "Is Lord Blackmore feeling poorly as well?"

"No, my lady. He's eating breakfast, I believe," she answered proudly. "He never feels the effect quite the way other men do."

My eyes closed as I heard another rough and unearthly sound come from his room. "Could you see if there is some peppermint tea in the kitchen? And perhaps a gingersnap, if there are any?"

She nodded, and fled down the hall, leaving me to contemplate entering a room that surely reeked of misfortune. Misfortune that he had brought upon himself. I wondered if I was a sweet enough person to go in and help him, or if I would immediately berate him for doing something so foolish. In the past I might have been able to help him, and he could have taken my ribbing with only a little annoyance. But he had made it clear that he found my impulsive speech about the evils of spirits unwanted and unneeded.

"Well?" Rebbecca demanded, planting her hands on her hips. "Are you going in or not?"

"I don't know if I should." I bit my lip, hearing him become sick again. "He won't want my help, you know."

"So?" she smirked. "There's very little he can do about it right now. And just think...he could be naked."

"Rebbecca!" I stared at the door with a little more interest. "Why are you so determined to pair us together anyway? You were such a vicious prude when you came out of that place I thought you'd never fathom kissing a man."

"Don't annoy me," she snorted. "I'm just trying to help you."

I took a deep breath, then opened the door a crack, peering inside to hear low moan coming from the water closet. "God, it reeks," I whispered, wrinkling my nose. Rebbecca took several steps back, holding her hand across the lower half of her face. "Tell everyone I'll be down later, that I'm..."

"Still in bed?" she offered.

"I don't care what you tell them." I hung my head out the door and took a last breath of fresh air, then closed it. Clothes were strung everywhere, giving me the indication that either he had refused the services of a maid during his time here, or he was indeed naked.

_"Bleeeeaaaaahhh!"_

"Dear God," I murmured, moving towards the tiled room. I could see his bare feet laid out across the floor, bare legs, bare...he had a large towel wrapped around his hips. Bare back...bare arms...

_"Bleeeeaaaahhhh!"_

I hesitated a moment, then leaned forward to pull the chain on the cistern, releasing water to flush out the bowl he was clinging to. He didn't look up, merely panted, his entire body looking a little green, and quite clammy from his early morning exertions. I thought I heard him murmur something, then he released the bowl to slouch against the wall.

"Water," he whispered, not opening his eyes.

"It will just make you throw up more," I advised, but left the room and returned with a glass-full.

"Lacey? What...you can't be in here," he mumbled, tugging ineffectively at his towel, which sadly covered all parts that were a mystery to me. "Go. You need to leave."

"As if I would let you near me with those lips," I answered sarcastically, kneeling beside him. "Here, drink this, but not all of it."

His hands slipped on the glass, so I helped him hold it to his mouth, making sure he didn't drink more than he needed. I'd been sick in the past and craved water - it never stayed down. Taking a towel from the rack, I wiped gently at his face, noticing he was sweating profusely from what looked like all of his pores.

"Fornicate," he muttered, opening his eyes. "You said fornicate."

I raised a brow. "No, I did not."

Raoul looked positively irritated that I had denied such a thing, and brushed my hands aside. "Not now," he stated. "On the ship. Zachary said..."

"What difference does it make? Are you still drunk?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "I think I ate the whole pie. Dom only had half a pie."

"Dom is eating his breakfast right now," I said wickedly. "Probably a large portion of sausage and..."

"Don't, Lace," he whispered, grabbing my hand and squeezing. "Ah...please don't mention food right now."

I stared down at our hands, joined, letting the warm sensation of his touch wash over me. It was always this way. It had always been this way with him. One look...one touch, and I was in heaven. Even sitting on the floor of a watercloset, while he vomited his guts out, I felt like I was near bliss. Though I would have preferred much more romantic settings, to be sure.

"Sorry," I said gently, taking my hand back since it wasn't doing me any good to let him hold it. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"No. You really ought to go," he groaned, pressing a hand across his eyes. "This is the worst...absolutely the worst."

I bit my tongue, and instead wiped his face down with a damp cloth, then his neck...and since I absolutely could not resist, his chest. Raoul lowered his hand and stared at me curiously, causing my newfound courage to fail. I stopped touching him altogether and sat down a few inches away, not quite touching but not so far away that we weren't. Yelling at him would do no good, and would likely increase the pounding I was certain had already begun inside his head. There really wasn't anything to do but let him suffer. He would live. And he would probably do it again, and likely had before. But, as he had told me before, his private life was none of my concern.

And I wasn't so stupid that I didn't know he wasn't willing to let me make it my concern.

"Why did you say it?" he asked suddenly.

"Say what? _Forn-uh-cate_?"

He nodded slowly, closing his eyes. "I don't think you ought to say it here. Zachary said..."

"Would you forget about what Zachary said?" I asked, exasperated.

"You shouldn't have told Rebbecca about us," he whispered, not looking at me. "You shouldn't have told anyone. It never should have happened."

"Then don't bring it up!" I snapped, throwing the rag and hitting him in the face. "Honestly, if it is your sole intention to banish it from your mind, then do it already!"

"I can't," he muttered. "God knows I want to."

I felt tears sting my eyes as we stared at one another. It was my fault for coming in here. My fault, because I should have known he would be irritable. And more outspoken that normal. Crueler, even.

"I didn't know you traveled," Raoul said quietly, his head rolling back to hit the wall. "I didn't know you liked horses, and that you liked swimming, or that you'd never played blind man's bluff."

"What are you talking about? You really are still quite gone, you know."

He opened his eyes and gazed at me for a moment, then furrowed his brow. "At dinner last night. You told Esme that you liked horses, but were never able to ride, and that you liked swimming, but hadn't since you were a girl. And you've never played a parlor game before, which seemed to shock her terribly."

I hadn't realized he'd been paying me the slightest bit of attention at dinner. He had seemed totally enamored with his glass of wine, and I tried in vain to remember ever hearing of a game called blind man's bluff. It probably wasn't nearly as exciting as it sounded, but I had to give him credit for trying.

"And these things are bothering you now, why?" I prodded, noticing he was beginning to look a little green again.

"I should have known those things about you," he whispered, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "I don't know anything, really. I don't..."

I could tell his stomach was going to revolt again, so I scooted back and let him purge himself again, wincing at each tortured choking sound. God, if this was what alcohol did to your system, why would anyone ever want to drink? Between gags, he begged me to leave him alone, and I ventured out into his bedroom, staring at the perfectly straight coverlet and unmussed pillows. He hadn't even gone to bed? I glanced back to see him rolling his forehead across the ceramic rim, trying to let the coolness of the surface ease the nausea rolling through him.

The maid entered, surprised to see me with a cup of tea and some gingersnaps, surprisingly still warm. I took them from her and returned to the watercloset, placing the tray on a small table next to the washbasin.

"Raoul, I'm going to leave this here for you. It might help," I said softly, placing a hand on a glistening bicep. My, oh, my. I supposed it was odd, but I couldn't help but feel something for him even now...likely it was all that sinewy flesh, bared to my hungry gaze. "There is some peppermint tea, and gingersnaps."

"I hate tea. Leave the other."

"You need to drink something other than water," I chided, lightly squeezing his arm. "But I really must go downstairs. I promised Dominick I would ride with him across the estate, since I cannot go out into public just yet. Will you be alright?"

He muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath, that sounded suspiciously in the negative. I smiled gamely at him when he finally looked up at me, and patted his cheek softly.

"Well, enjoy the rest of your morning," I said, finally letting a streak of vindictiveness enter my tone. "I'm sure you'll be up and running around at some point this evening. I shall see you then."

A muffled curse, and then the sound of thrashing around could be discerned when I finally left the room.

But all I heard as I walked down the hallway was, _"Bleeeeaaaahhhh!"_


	37. Not Enough

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

After spending my morning bent over a porcelain bowl, and half of the afternoon trying to summon the energy to dress – and failing – I decided that I would stop drinking. At least during the rest of my time in England. I had to stay sober for Lacey, and really, I could not tolerate that knowing air she had about her. The I-told-you-so way she had looked at me, her expression one half pity and one half pure delight. Not to mention my horribly rude manners in abandoning my guests when I had practically invited myself to stay.

Esme, dear, sweet Esme was the only one who took pity on me. She had accepted my apologies with graciousness, then informed me that no one could out-drink her son, a fact which seemed to delight her a great deal.

"But really, you must sit down," she said, coddling me like a child. I leaned back against the chair, letting her place a motherly hand against my forehead. "I say, I've never seen a man this sick. How much did you drink, Raoul?"

"Enough," I grumbled. "I do apologize, my lady. I was feeling a bit competitive last night, I suppose. It won't happen again."

"I certainly hope not," Robert said from across the room. "We need to figure out how we're going to help this girl."

"Why don't we invite the Marquess for dinner?" I asked, shifting painfully so that I was sitting erect. "And Lady Wakefield, of course."

"No," Robert murmured, "Halifax hasn't left his bed in a good two years. He's lingered around for so long, they have a bet at White's on whether or not he will survive for the wedding."

Esme snorted delicately. "Honestly, men will bet on anything."

"That's the truth," I added, remembering that two men had bet three thousand pounds on which raindrop would reach the bottom of a window at White's. That particular establishment was well known for such foolish bets, though not nearly as astonishing as the goat fight that had taken place in Regates.

Two goats...one apple...a fight to the death...

Or not. The goats, not particularly fond of the bet, had not cooperated, and eventually retired to Baron Proust's pasture. Each of them had been given an apple, to commiserate their victory on surviving, because the loser would have been promptly eaten.

I, sadly, bet on the black goat.

I had consumed roughly three bottles of wine, which might have explained my lapse in judgement. Whether or not I had help with the wine is still a point of contention between myself and Baron Proust, as is the identity of the idiot who had thought up the bet. They were, after all, the Baron's goats, a fact that I have never let up on.

"Then Dominick and I shall pay Lady Wakefield a visit, and personally invite her. And her _betrothed_, if you wish," Esme said politely. "We need not mention our guests from France, or that we even know Blaise and the rest of the Montausiers. If I invite Emma, she will come. And if they want to keep her happy before the wedding takes place, then they will accompany her."

"I think it's a sound plan," Robert agreed. "What do you think, Raoul?"

I couldn't possibly questioned such irrefutable logic. Especially with my head pounding, and an increasing possibility that I might embarrass myself in front of my host and hostess. I merely nodded, closing my eyes for a moment.

"Sounds lovely."

"What sounds lovely?" I heard Dom ask as he came striding in, still clad in his riding clothes from this morning.

I'd seen him and Lacey tearing across the lawn a few times during the day, in moments when I was not vomiting or sleeping. She was a magnificent rider, to my surprise. They'd even gotten into a race, which I had missed the ending of due to an unfortunate surge of illness. I had watched only for a moment as her riding hat whipped off her head, and her hair had come unbound as she flew across the lawn.

It hadn't made me particularly fond of Dom, especially when he had ridden by my window and tapped his riding whip against his temple, smiling like the devil. In all my drinking last night, it had never occured to me I might like to race neck or nothing with Lacey across the estate. She was vibrant...alive...and I was insanely jealous of Dom for getting to see her up close with her curling blond hair all around her shoulders, and her blue eyes wide with laughter dancing in their depths. I could almost feel her body pressed against mine...which had nothing to do with riding...well...depending on one's perspective.

"We're going to have a dinner party, and invite Lady Wakefield and her betrothed," Robert announced.

I opened my eyes in time to see Lacey pausing in the doorway, glancing from me to Robert, then to Esme. She didn't look at all pleased by this as she tugged her gloves off and moved to sit beside me.

"Is this true?" she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

"Only if you want, Lacey," I said quietly.

"Lacey?" she asked archly. "Don't you mean Diana? Have you forgotten my name in your drunken stupor?"

I gaped at her for a moment, then glanced around the room. Dom looked amused, Robert and Esme curious and Lacey...the little wretch, looked offended. "I...well...I'm sorry. Of course. It was my _drunken stupor_ that caused me to forget your name," I said, feigning a laugh. "Forgive me, my dear."

"Of course, _dear_," she responded, patting my cheek a little harder than necessary. "Now, tell me about this plan of yours."

"Esme thought of it," I answered grouchily, resisting the urge to touch my stinging cheek. "To invite Emma Wakefield, and force her to drag Blaise along with her. It will be a trap, naturally. Your presence may not be needed unless you wish to be there."

She shrugged slightly. "I don't know yet. Is this what you want?"

I glanced around the room a moment, then took her hand. "What I want doesn't matter, Diana. What _you_ want is the only thing that matters. Do you have the papers Erik was supposed to have drawn up?"

"Yes," she whispered, pulling away from me. "Upstairs."

I frowned, then took her hand again. She pulled back, a mulish expression on her face. Behind me I heard Dom snicker, and I clenched my jaw in frustration. Next time they would have a chaperon when they rode around the estate. Next time, when my head wasn't spinning, Dom might be surprised find some of his teeth missing.

It angered me that she wouldn't even allow me to hold her hand. I'd tried...several times since she had arrived. Her body said no...but her eyes said something else. I knew she was still hurt over what I had said in Paris. Over my constantly boorish nature, and the way I had tried to deal with her feelings. I had not done anything right with Lacey...ever. I didn't understand why she even wanted to speak with me...let alone cared enough that my touch wasn't something she would allow. I just wanted to be friends with her. Since I could have nothing else, then I did want to remain her friend. She was too sweet, too special for me to let go.

"Diana, will this please you?" I asked plainly.

"If this takes care of my divorce, then yes," she said quietly. "And you ensure that the Montausiers do not retaliate against Lady Wakefield. He isn't...," she lowered her voice and leaned in close, "...he isn't a physician here, is he?"

"Not that I am aware," I said softly.

Lacey bit her lip, mostly to keep it from trembling and looked at me. "I want to see him."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but I will do it regardless," she said firmly.

"I admire your courage, Diana," Dominick declared, and moved to sit on the other side of her. It was so smooth...so easy, I was certain she didn't even notice how quickly he had taken her hands in his, pressing a kiss across the back of them. "You are truly a woman of great strength and beauty."

"Thank you, Lord Blackmore," she murmured, blushing and smiling, and looking positively radiant under the glow of his compliments. Come to think of it...she had looked that way earlier, riding about the estate with her laughter echoing around the estate, the sound more precious than any music I had ever heard.

I swallowed hard, not liking the surge of possessiveness that came over me. I had known early on that I would not like it if Dom were to make an advance on her. I didn't anticipate her reaction to him, and the carefree way she seemed to accept his attention. She was friendlier with him, even more than she had ever been with me.

"Dom, or Dominick is fine," he corrected. "And may I call you Diana?"

"Of course you may," she replied, beaming.

Robert cleared his throat, giving his son a pointed glance. Dom smiled and slowly released Lacey's hands, then cocked an eyebrow at me when Lacey turned her head.

"When will this dinner party take place?" she asked softly, looking at Esme.

"Three days...does that give us all enough time?" Esme answered, looking at Lacey, then at me. I nodded, but only after Lacey had done so. "Good. Dominick, you may accompany me to Lady Wakefield's tomorrow morning, bright and early. We don't want to arrive at a time that the Montausier's may be visiting. Now, if you will excuse us, I need to speak with my son and husband about another equally important event that I wish to plan."

Esme smiled, then shooed us both from the room, winking at Lacey before she pulled the doors shut to the parlor.

"What was that about?" she wondered.

"I could ask you the same question," I said angrily.

Lacey's eyebrows raised slightly. "What are you talking about now? More profanities? Or have you recalled another tidbit of conversation from the dinner party that you almost missed?"

"I'm talking about Dom using your given name," I snapped, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her away from the doors. "The man is a womanizer."

"I know," she answered dreamily. "Isn't he wonderful? He almost reminds me of Erik."

"_What?"_

"He doesn't remind you of Erik?" she asked, rather sweetly. I began to suspect she was taunting me now, for she actually batted her eyelashes. Rather cute, but I was growing quite annoyed. "He even has the same black hair, and light eyes. Though his are hazel. Erik's are very, very green."

If she knew anything about me, or my past, she would have known that giving attention to another man in front of me was not going to earn her any favors. It was behavior like this that had led me to embracing the lifestyle of having a mistress. And I had a slight trust issue where women were concerned, since on my wedding day I found out my bride was pregnant, and not with my child.

"Unless you want to find yourself married to the future Earl of Sandwich, I suggest you limit your time in Dominick's presence," I said rigidly. "We are not here to socialize, Lacey."

"We aren't?" she drawled, yanking her elbow out of my hand. "Funny, you seemed to do plenty of socializing last night, _Vicomte_. It's a good thing Zachary came along, otherwise I might have gone around with absolutely no protection, and no one to champion for me should I need it. I daresay Rebbecca could have defended me better than you."

I felt my face burn with shame, and stared at her helplessly for a few moments. "I know. I'm sorry, and it won't happen again," I said curtly.

She rolled her eyes, clearly not believing me. "Next time don't expect me to help you, unless you wish for me to shove a plate of greasy meat toward your mouth."

My stomach churned, just thinking about it. "I said I was sorry, Lacey."

"You're always sorry for something," she said, looking rather sad for a moment. "I wonder what it is that drives you into such depression. You were once such a – "

"Depression?"

She blinked, startled at the bite in my tone. "Well, yes – "

"I'm not depressed," I growled, narrowing my eyes at her. "Do you understand? Don't ever call me that. Ever."

Lacey nodded hesitantly, but appeared baffled by my outburst. How could I tell her that I was still haunted by my wife's depression? That the veil of sadness that had surrounded her life, and finally her death, had never lifted. I was still shrouded in her darkness. In the last, final bitter days of her struggle...no...that was incorrect. She did not struggle to live. She had given up. Christine had simply given up. On me, on James, and on Charlotte.

Fury curled in my stomach, and I knew precisely why I drank. Anger. Pure, raw anger at her. At my wife. And that anger always gave way to sadness...then remorse...then I could recover long enough for the anger to build again. Usually something significant triggered it.

The birth of a child. Christmas. Weddings. Other family holidays. Apparently being sexually frustrated was an excuse as well.

That was all it really was. An excuse. To drink. To vent. To grieve, because I was certain I would never finish grieving for Christine. For the loss of what should have been. For the love I had lost, and the love that hadn't been quite enough.

It summed up my marriage, I thought bitterly. My love. And it was never enough.


	38. A Plea of Mercy

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Raoul seemed genuinely upset by my remark about him being depressed. I snapped my mouth shut, determined not to continue prying into his affairs, since he obviously didn't want me to. Though it was perfectly fine for him to know everything about me, which was rather irksome. Because really, he didn't know anything about me at all, especially if he thought marrying Dominick was a terrifying thought for me. Likely, it was the closest I would ever get to being married again anyway. At least Dominick wasn't a repulsive toad.

"Perhaps Lord Blackmore would be a more convincing beau," I said casually. "I do believe we ought to let him know the truth about us. He's been very curious, since you and I don't seem to particularly like one another."

His eyes narrowed to slits, and he bared his teeth at me. "Things will remain as they are. Do not encourage Lord Blackmore, Lacey. Do not even consider it."

"I already have," I confessed, though it was not quite the entire truth. Dominick was, and had been, a perfect gentleman. But he wasn't Raoul, and it was obvious he took for granted this beautiful life he had. And that he didn't have any restraint towards women, whatsoever. He was, however, very charming. "Dom doesn't know about my damaged reputation. He doesn't treat me like I'm going to break. Like I'm different. And he shows absolutely no compunction about harboring thoughts of wicked things."

"Do I?" he countered, frowning at me. "Do I treat you like you are different?"

"You always have," I answered, my chest suddenly tight. It hurt to breathe, and I blinked several times trying to banish a fresh bout of tears. "I expect you always will."

"That isn't what I want," Raoul said softly, his expression of anger falling. "I don't...I never meant to..."

"It doesn't matter," I said dully, moving past him. "I need to change. I'm quite dirty from riding all day."

"Lacey, wait," he pleaded.

When I turned, he was rubbing his face, a habit I had always found endearing. It was as if he could wipe all expression from his features, and all worrisome thoughts from his mind. It never worked. He always repeated the motion, and I'd never witnessed any happy solution come out of his frustrated methods.

"I...I would like for us to get along. I don't want to fight with you. I'm sorry about last night, and about this morning, and every other damned thing that I have done to you. _Please _forgive me," Raoul said, moving until he was standing before me. "I want to help you with your husband. It's...it's the least I can do after..."

"Don't," I warned, jumping as he ran his fingers from my shoulder to my wrists. My eyes closed as pleasure flowed through me, his heat warming the silk of my gown, burning me through the thin fabric. "You...you can't keep touching me."

"We're friends," he replied, his voice low and soft, caressing me as much as his hands.

"No."

"We aren't friends?"

"Not after...not after this we won't be," I whispered, opening my eyes. "Once we return to Paris, I won't see you again."

Disappointment flashed across his face. Then hurt, then anger. "Why?" he asked roughly. "Why, Lacey?"

"Why does it matter to you?" I demanded, then regretted asking that. But it was too late to stop. I needed to know...for once, I just wanted to know where I stood with him. "I mean nothing to you. Stop toying with me, Vicomte. This isn't a game."

"Nothing?" Raoul repeated, his voice raising. "Nothing? What in the hell do you think I'm doing in England? I'm doing this for you! Dammit, why must you have a reason for everything? I'm not...," he took a breath, realizing he was holding onto my wrists, then let me go. "I'm not toying with you. I'm not trying to play games. You're the one flirting with Lord Blackmore, and now you say that you might encourage him further! Are you trying to drive me insane?"

"I don't know why it would bother you," I shrugged, "Lord Blackmore happens to be a very nice man."

I continued to taunt him, feeling worse by the second. It wasn't as if he were interested in me. He had made that clear many, many times. He was just following Erik's orders. Lacey must be protected. Lacey cannot be allowed to do anything remotely considered scandalous. Lacey will not be touched...by anyone.

"If you truly want him, then go after him," he ground out sharply. "But you will not do anything resembling what happened in my study. Is that clear? I would not presume to stand in the way of true love..."

I laughed shortly and turned away. "You are a_ riot_. Perhaps I'm not looking for love, Vicomte. Perhaps I'm looking for adventure."

In my mind I recalled what Erik had said about me needing to push him away. Needing to make Raoul dislike me, because it was the only way to hide how I felt. The only thing that saved me from making a fool of myself - which I had already done - but for the moment I found solace in the idea of him being jealous of Dominick Blackmore. If not jealous, at the very least protective. Perhaps that small amount of attention would sustain me for the duration of our stay. Then I could banish him from my life, and one day, from my mind.

If I wasn't so convinced of how pathetic my love for him was, I might have actually been angry with him. Instead I felt nothing but a great emptiness. A huge void of emotion that I knew could be filled with love, if only he would let me.

"I hope you will reconsider," he said stiffly. "I truly would like to honor my promise to Erik. But you seem determined to ruin that for me, and I can only think that you do this for spite. I _am_ sorry Lacey. I never meant to hurt you."

I cast a glittering stare over my shoulder, fury and shame slamming into the pit of my stomach. Before I could speak, the parlor door opened and Esme stepped out, smiling at us both.

"Good, you're still here," she said warmly. "I've begged my husband, and he has consented to hosting a ball for the spring season. I hope you will be able to stay an extra week, Diana."

I glanced at Raoul uncertainly. "If time permits, my lady. The Vicomte must be eager to return to Paris. He has a young son, you know," I said, offering Raoul a way out of the commitment.

"Yes," she sighed with delight. "He has told me so many things about young James. And you must be thrilled, Diana. Once this situation with the Montausiers has cleared itself up, you will once again be a wife, and then a mother."

I gasped, and stepped backwards, her words like a flare right into my chest. I didn't dare glance at Raoul, but his head had moved sharply in someone's direction. I wasn't sure whose, and I wasn't about to try and find out. Likely, he was gritting his teeth at the idea of someone taking Christine's place, and probably furious that she had insinuated that it would be me.

"Of course," I whispered, giving her a wan smile. "Of course I will be thrilled."

"Do you and little James get along?" she asked, not realizing the very dangerous water that she cast me into.

"With chocolate anything is possible, my lady," I hedged.

She laughed, delighted by my glib response. "Well then. Let me know if you can stay for the ball. I don't want to pressure you, but I did want you to attend. I know you didn't have a proper come-out ball, and this wouldn't be one either, but I thought you might enjoy it."

"I would," I murmured. But probably not as much as I had enjoyed the masquerade, I added silently.

"We will stay," Raoul said immediately. I glanced at him, finding his expression morose. Better than livid, but not quite as heartening as it would have been if he had looked dumbstruck by Esme's observations.

"Excellent! Now, Diana, the maid tells me there is something wrong with your room. Might I ask if you would like another?"

I groaned inwardly and fixed a smile on my face. "Of course not. I love my room. The view is excellent," I said gaily. From the bedroom. The sitting room...not so much. But I should have locked my doors if I hadn't wanted to be discovered sleeping anywhere other than my bed.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking troubled. "We have many other rooms. Perhaps the bed wasn't comfortable?"

"I wouldn't know," I said smoothly, keeping my eyes trained on her, and not glancing at Raoul even once. "I have a habit of drifting off in unusual places. The sitting room was quite comfortable last night. I will try the bed tonight, of course."

Esme beamed at me. "Lovely! I haven't had all that many guests in recent years. I had feared my hostess skills were rusty!"

"Not at all," I replied cheerfully, my cheeks aching from all the smiling I had done. "I can't tell you what a delight it has been, and I had such a grand time this morning with Lord Blackmore. The horses were very energetic, and if I had been a half stride faster, then your son would have been the loser of that race."

She arched a brow, then glanced at Raoul. "There isn't a woman alive that doesn't have a grand time with my son. If I were you, Raoul, I would keep a closer watch on your intended. My son, as it happens, is looking for a bride of his own."

"This one is mine," he said quietly, his hand reaching out and tugging me to his side. I felt my breath catch, and a fire run hot through my body. I gazed up at him, rather dumbly, forgetting that I was supposed to act as if I hated him. Instead, I probably looked just as I was: a woman hopelessly in love.

_This one is mine._

I wasn't certain my heart could take those words. Not when he didn't mean them. Not when they weren't true. I wasn't his intended bride. I felt his fingers lace with mine, and was now more confused than ever. What sort of message was I supposed to take from that? He was holding my hand very intimately, yet he had almost violently declared himself my friend and nothing more, even after what had happened at the masquerade. I knew that there would never be anything between us...but now he tossed me hope that I didn't think I could sustain. If I could not have all of him, then I would not take any of him.

I had tried that for too long, and it hurt too much. He was still staring down at me, and for a moment the world seemed to slip away and it was just me, and it was just him. Esme was forgotten, and his promise to Erik was forgotten, and everything rotten that had ever happened between us was gone. A slew of desire consumed my every thought as I felt the heat of his body through my right side, burning into my skin, scorching my soul. Dimly I realized that Esme had retreated to the parlor, leaving us alone in the hall.

"Stop looking at me like that," I pleaded with him, registering the sensation of his thumb stroking my hand. "You're hurting me."

"I'm barely touching you, Lacey," Raoul murmured.

"What is it? Do you _desire_ me?" I asked desperately. He wasn't hurting me physically. It was inside. What he was doing to my heart. Making me love him more, giving me hope, and I was ready to give up. I couldn't take any more. Without warning a tear slipped down my cheek, and a sob caught in my throat. "Is this...is this _desire_? Is that why you're doing this? You desire me?"

His eyes turned dark, his expression hard and unyieldingly handsome. "Yes. Very much," he whispered, his throat convulsing. "I know that...I know that you expect more from me, Lacey. I just cannot give you what you need. I think you're beautiful, and it wasn't just what happened at the ball that makes me think that. I have always thought so. I have always liked you. But I will not marry ever again. And you deserve someone who will be a good husband, if that is what you want. I'm sorry, but I...I didn't enjoy being married."

A million questions swam through my mind. The most prominent..._why? _Why why why? But I couldn't force the word out, though I knew he could see it in my eyes. It was impossible for me to hide from him...impossible for me to stop wondering.

"I did not make my wife happy," he volunteered, sounding lost and quite alone. "We did not have a good marriage."

"Why?" I asked, unable to stop it this time.

He shook his head slightly, as if he himself was not certain. I hated the bereft look about him. He looked shattered, and defenseless, and for once I could see how truly unhappy he was with his life. I could not curb my hand as it traveled up to rest on his chest, just resting over his heart. I could feel him, breathing harder and louder as I stared at the lapel of his coat. There had never been a moment when I had wanted him to kiss me more than this one. The silence of the hall was occasionally interrupted by a burst of laughter behind the parlor doors, but it could have been a world away instead of only a few feet.

"Would you tell me about your wife?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I felt him jerk slightly beneath my palm, and lifted my damp eyes to his startled ones. "Please, Raoul?"


	39. To Live With Guilt

Disclaimer : I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

Finding it difficult to breathe, I stared into Lacey's eyes. Her hopeful expression tugged at my heart, and I felt like a complete and utter bastard, knowing she was really asking for a chance. A way to connect with me. Her voice, like a soft summer rain was entreating me, and I felt her fingers dig into my coat as she waited for my answer.

Tell her about Christine? Tell her what...precisely? I'd never discussed her before. Not with anyone. Even Jacqueline. Sometimes I talked to James, but he was too young to understand the things I said about his mother. And his insight was reduced to drooling, and an occasional snore because he always slept against my chest. Lacey's gaze broke in the wake of my silence, and I could see her erecting her walls once again.

"Yes," I blurted out, wanting to ease her mind. For what reason, I wasn't sure, except that I hated seeing her unhappy. I would tell her what I could...and hope that she understood I did it as a friend. Despite the fact that my heart was walloping the inside of my body like a hammer, and I had found my eyes centered on her mouth quite a few times, I knew that I wasn't going to take things any further than discussion. I wanted her. There was no denying that, and perhaps it was best if we didn't see each other once we returned to Paris. Because it was obvious that there was quite a bit of something between us, but Lacey deserved someone to take care of her. If she wished to move on with her life, and had the strength to withstand a man's touch after what happened to her, then I was happy for her. She was a beautiful woman, and I couldn't imagine her being reclusive like Erik for the rest of her life.

But whoever it was she moved on with would need to marry her. And I was quite certain that I did not have the desire to be a husband again.

I was tempted. So very tempted to lean in, kiss her, and be done with it. Seal my fate, and hers with one kiss, because I knew if I kissed her again I wouldn't be able to stop.

Not after what I had experienced in the library. Not after seeing how beautiful she was when she shattered in my hands, and how much passion she had inside of her. Passion for me.

I swallowed hard, covering the one hand that she had pressed against my chest. God, I would have given anything to kiss her. If duty and honor had not been drummed into my head for so damned long, and I wasn't imagining Erik's face when I thought about so much as caressing a breast, then I would have already kissed her. And more.

"When?" she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. "Come to my room tonight."

"No, Lacey," I said, my tone jarring the stunned silence that followed her request. "We can't..."

"We won't," Lacey replied softly, squeezing her eyes tight. "Just talk to me. I promise. Promise..."

"I..."

My words were cut off as the parlor doors opened to the surprised face of Dom. I stepped back from Lacey hastily, seeing the disappointment on her face that was hidden from him.

"I have to go," she mumbled, not glancing at him as she finally was able to flee. I still couldn't quite believe what she had asked me to do. Come to her room? My body tightened instantly, imagining her dressed in something else...or nothing...

"Well," he said cheerfully. "It's good to see that you're up and about. I feared after last night, you might have become permanently ill. Shall we go out again?"

"No."

Dom shrugged slightly. "Ah, well. I will enjoy the evening without you then," he said, not sounding sorry at all. He waved slightly as he turned to leave.

"Diana remains off limits," I said quietly, making him stop.

"Does she?" he asked, lifting a brow. "You could have fooled me."

"She's mine," I said for the second time in ten minutes. And oddly, it gave me a queer sensation to say it. In the same breath...I felt as if I actually meant it. The thought of another man touching her was enough to drive me to murder. Leopold had almost gotten a taste of it, and I hadn't even considered her a friend at that point. If Dom touched her, I was quite certain I would injure him.

"So you say," he replied sardonically, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I don't think she would mind being my future Countess. Not at all."

"Touch her, and you will never be an Earl."

I was getting truly angry, even though I wasn't certain if he was serious or not. I'd seen him kiss several women in the last four weeks. Not all of them available ladies either. Married women, young debutante's, and even a recent widow who hadn't seemed to mind all that much. But the thought of him kissing Lacey, or even holding her close was enough to piss me off.

"Do you love her?" he asked suddenly, a serious expression in his eyes.

I started, unsure of how to respond. Love? _Love?_ "I care for her," I answered stiffly.

"I've been with enough women to know when they are in love," Dom said, crossing his arms. "And I've seen what happens to them when it is unreciprocated. _I _happen to them. They seek me out. Want to start an affair with me because of my reputation, which makes it a little difficult to find a respectable wife."

"Perhaps you should retire," I said sarcastically. "Most women expect a little faith in their marriage."

"Not here," he shrugged. "Not any of the women I know anyway. Besides, they say a reformed rake makes the best husband. And when I marry, I will retire my...habits. As do all men in my family. I've always known this. And marrying a beautiful Frenchwoman like Diana would make my mother extremely happy. I could see myself marrying a woman like her. Or to be precise...her."

"Stay away from her, Dom."

"Or what? You'll sic Rougette on me? A terrifying prospect."

I smiled slightly in response. "I think I could handle you myself. Should it come to that, of course."

Not looking the slightest bit offended (and indeed, he was probably threatened on a daily basis by husbands, brothers, fathers, and potential beaus), he winked at me, then turned and sauntered off.

He would not have a reason to smile though, if he laid his hands on Lacey. The trouble was, I would have to get in line to beat him, when I would relish doing it myself.

- -

Lacey, most likely to prevent me from telling her that I would not come to her room, did not arrive for dinner. Esme announced that she was suffering from a headache, and would take a tray in her rooms. I did not need to mention that I too was suffering from one, but _I _had made it to the table. It would have been ridiculous to protest in any case, because Lacey did_ not_ have a headache.

What she had was a terrible case of females hormones, resulting in a desire to scheme and plot, and put me exactly where she wanted me. Right outside her door after everyone had retired for the evening.

I wasn't sure what I expected when she opened the door. Given my male imagination, I would admit it was not that she would be fully clothed. Which did _not_ make my visit any more proper, but this conversation (considering that Lacey was one of said people conversing), would not be proper either.

"Good evening," she said brightly. "Come in."

"This is..."

She rolled her eyes and stepped back so that I could enter. "Oh stop your complaining and come in before someone sees you. Zachary has been patrolling outside my door, you know."

I moved in and shut the door firmly behind me. "Are we alone?" I asked cautiously.

"Very," she replied, opening a set of doors that led to a sitting room, which I followed her gratefully into since I would not have to stare at her bed.

"Nice room," I offered lamely, looking around at the delicate furniture inside the small room. "Very...feminine."

"Isn't it? I rather like Erik's overstuffed, very manly couches."

I sank down on a pink cushion, not feeling terribly out of place. My mother's rooms were similar, and Christine's had been very dark, yet beautiful. Not to mention Jacqueline's rooms, which were overflowing with signs of womanly things.

"How does your head feel?" I inquired politely.

"Much better," she said, smiling like a cat. "And yours?"

"Pounding like a drum."

"I thought so." She sat down beside me, grinning from ear to ear. "You look as if you could use a good night's sleep."

I hesitated, uncertain if there was an offer anywhere in that sentence. "I could," I said vaguely. "I...uh...you wanted to talk to me, Lacey. I'm not really certain where to start."

Her smile became strained, and she nodded slightly. "As...as much as you can tell me is fine," she said softly. "Why don't you tell me how you met Christine?"

Christine. I swallowed and closed my eyes. "We were children. I was staying with an aunt in Perros-Guirec, and happened to see her standing on the shore. Her...," I paused and swallowed again, "...scarf had been torn from her hands and went into the sea. I fetched it and returned it to her."

Lacey nodded, encouraging me with a gentle smile. I took a breath, relaxing slightly under her gentle gaze and understanding nature. "You knew her for a long time then?"

"Yes. We spent the summer together," I said softly. "Then I met her two more times before I went into the military. I loved her, but I knew my father expected me to marry well so I never pursued her. Not until...he had died, and I heard her singing at the Opera. She was...beautiful in so many ways. I found out quickly there was something odd going on inside there."

"You mean Erik?"

"It was a very strange thing that happened. I don't blame Erik now, but I hated him then. And during our marriage, I was not kind to Christine. I felt betrayed, and I was resentful at first of Charlotte. She told me...on our wedding night that she was with..."

"Oh, Raoul," she whispered, lifting a hand to her chest. "That...that wasn't very well done of her."

"No. It wasn't. It was absolutely the last thing I expected," I said quietly, surprised that no anger flared in my heart. Not towards her, and not towards Erik. There was just...sadness. "I did not consummate my marriage for a long time."

I wasn't sure why I told her this. It just seemed to slip out, and it was not something I cared to admit to anyone, but she just looked at me with a sweet, soulful look in her eyes, wanting to hear what I had to say. And it was almost a relief after all this time to actually talk to someone. To tell them the truth, as I had seen it. I had been alone for so long. Even during my marriage, there had never been anyone to talk to. Not Christine, because it hadn't seemed fair to share my burdens with someone who was already troubled. Not anyone, for what felt like an eternity. But now Lacey was here, and I felt my chest tighten suddenly as I realized that she was here because she wanted to listen to me. She wanted to know me. I wasn't even sure who that was anymore, but I tried my best to sort it out so that I could tell her.

Even if I was only giving her reasons why it would never work between us.

"She should have told you. It wasn't fair of her to trap you," Lacey said carefully. "Were you angry with her?"

"Very. We did not speak for days. I...I could have annulled the marriage, had I not loved her. Or if I had not wanted to be married to her. I convinced myself that she never would have...lain with Erik willingly. It made me hate him more. It wasn't until later that she told me that she had done so _after_ the fire. By that time an annulment was not possible, but I did not want one in any case. I loved her too much to let her go," I whispered, glancing away. "If I had let her go, she would have gone to Erik, and I..."

Lacey touched my hand, squeezing gently. "There's nothing wrong with that, Raoul. If she had wanted to go, she could have left you at any time. But she didn't."

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth, remembering one thousand screaming matches between us that spoke the truth. She had wanted to leave. She had wanted to stay. Christine had never really known what she wanted. It hadn't been me, and it hadn't been Erik. But she had wanted something from each of us.

I had made her feel safe. Erik had made her feel alive. Neither one of us had made her happy.

"She missed him, but didn't want to end or marriage," I said simply. "And I didn't love her enough to let her go. Christine was joyless and impulsive. And she was never happy. Especially as she began increasing. She finally convinced me to admit her to Salpetriere."

Lacey's eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. "She _wanted _to go there?"

"Demanded was more like it," I said slowly. "Not every part of the hospital was like that, Lacey. She feared...and I feared at times that she would take her own life. There were good doctors there, and they helped her somewhat. But I always feared that one day she would hurt herself. And...and the baby, before it was born."

"No..."

"I did not make her happy. Not ever," I said, feeling so cold that a shudder ran through me. It hurt, as it always had, and I craved a drink so much that I dampened my lips. I began to see nothing and realized I had bitter tears blurring my vision.

"She didn't make you happy either," Lacey added, in almost a whisper. "That doesn't mean that you must live the rest of your life in regret, Raoul. In pain."

"Guilt," I mumbled, staring down at the carpet. "This is guilt. Do you know why?"

Lacey shook her head slowly when I glanced up at her, and I felt her hand tighten around mine once more, prompting me to continue. I felt my insides seize, and a wall come crashing down, because now I could not retract the words. I couldn't unsay them. I could free myself of this burden, and let her know the reason that I was not worthy of her. I was not good enough for her. In failing Christine, I had set myself up for being alone, because I did not deserve any wife after I had treated my first one in such a disrespectful way.

It was time. Time for her to know the truth, and know that I was not an honorable man, and I was not a man to be respected and loved. Not now, and not ever again. After this I could return to my bottle and drown away the rest of my misery and complete the vicious cycle of anger to regret.

I swallowed and looked up at her, shaking so hard she appeared startled. But it would not stop...it would never stop until I had said what I needed to say.

"Guilt," I repeated, my voice raw with anguish. "For feeling relief when she died. _That_ was how I felt when my wife died. The wife I loved...my _wife_...the mother of my children. I felt so damned unburdened...so free. Only now, I will never be free."


	40. Consent

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Raoul broke my heart. Truly, I felt it rip into shreds as I took in his angry expression. He hated himself. Deemed himself unworthy because his marriage had failed. Instead of moving on with his life, he had regressed into this self loathing creature who wanted no comfort, and didn't believe he was worth redemption. It broke my heart to see him so defeated, and I placed my hand against his cheek wishing that I had the words to heal him.

"She would still be alive if...if James...," he whispered, his teeth clenched so tight his mouth barely moved. "I should never have agreed..."

"But she wanted James," I said softly, remembering what Eva had told me. "You cannot blame yourself, Raoul. Your marriage didn't fail because of you. And she didn't die because of you."

"Yes."

"No," I insisted, moving closer to him. "Don't think that way. She gave you a beautiful, wonderful child. A son, who I know you are proud of." His eyes flickered away, loaded with shame and disgust. "A son you love," I continued softly. "Do not blame yourself for loving him because it means that she is gone. And the relief that you felt was natural. I felt the same way when my father died."

He was clearly startled. "You did?"

"My father suffered," I said softly. "I hated to see him in pain, and when he was gone he was finally at peace. So was I."

"How did he die?" he asked, taking my hand away from his face and holding with both of his. "I wasn't aware of it until he was already gone. I...I did not say goodbye to him."

"A cancer," I answered, remembering how my once vital father had wasted away. "He wanted to die, I think. Towards the end, there was nothing he wanted more."

"I'm sorry," he said, staring down at our hands. "I think...I think she wanted to die too. I often wondered if it was because she wanted Erik, but did not have the courage to accept him."

"Accept him?"

"He frightened her," he said quietly. "Once she knew that he was not a ghost, ironically, and only a man. When she..."

He stopped and closed his eyes, as if he had trouble speaking ill of her, even now. "It's alright," I whispered. "I won't repeat anything you need to say."

"You are very kind," Raoul murmured, giving me a tight smile. "Very selfless to listen to my pitiful speech."

"It isn't pitiful. It's...heartbreaking," I managed to say. I had wanted to be as honest with him as I dared. To let go of the fake hatred I had summoned for him, and hopefully let him discover the true me. To let him see that I was capable of more than stinging words and mocking laughter. I had nearly destroyed any chance we had by being unnecessarily cruel to him, and I hoped that he did not compare me to his temperamental wife. "But you have to stop blaming yourself. And...and I only want to say this because I am concerned for you. Not to judge, or to make you feel more guilt. But..."

"But what?" he asked, his tone hard with suspicion.

"You have to stop drinking," I said gently, stroking the back of his hand. "It's destroying you. Everyone can see it but you, Raoul."

His features became pinched, and he looked as if he were about to retort.

"I'm not trying to insult you. I...care about you."

"Lacey..."

"No don't," I cut in, struggling to breathe and to think clearly. The conversation had gotten off center. I wasn't prepared to admit my feelings for him, even if they were blatantly there on my sleeve. "I want to talk about Christine."

"What more is there to say?" he asked bitterly. "Do you want me to admit the rest of my shortcomings?"

"No. Not at all. There must have been some good parts to your marriage," I said softly, hoping that I was not mistaken.

He nodded slightly, as if afraid to say it. "Some days were everything I dreamed. But they didn't last."

"She was a sad person, wasn't she?" I questioned gently. He nodded again, closing his eyes. "Was it because of the hospital?"

"No. Christine was like that for a long time," he whispered. "After her father died...but even before that she had fragile emotions. I wanted to make her happy. That was all I ever wanted."

"Raoul...that isn't normal. Her mind..."

"I loved her," he said sharply.

"Yes, I know. But she wasn't an easy person to love, was she? And I...I was around women in that hospital who were possibly really and truly demented. That doesn't mean that they should have been locked away like animals. They deserved to be loved just as much as anyone else. If she had been married to another sort of man she could have been there," I replied, trying to make him understand. "You were a good husband to her. Not...I'm not saying you were perfect. I don't know. I wasn't there. But she could have been treated much worse. And it doesn't sound like she would have been happy, no matter what you did."

"It was never enough._ I_ was never enough."

I closed my eyes, struggling to keep my patience. It wasn't his fault. Why couldn't he see that? From what Erik and Eva had told me about her, she wasn't just sad. She was completely inconsolable. That she had been troubled for a long time, and that nothing he could have done would have made her happy. I was getting nowhere with him on this, and it didn't seem like I ever would. He had accepted the blame with open arms, and nothing would relieve him of his burden. And the crush of guilt was breaking him. One day, it would consume him completely.

"Do you know why I love life so much?" I asked him, waiting until he looked at me. "If there was a person in this world who ought to live in fear...in sadness, then it is me. And Rebbecca. And all those other women in the world like us. Do you know what it feels like to be helpless?"

"Lacey, you don't have to say anything. I know you hate talking about this," he said softly.

"I don't like talking about it," I admitted, keeping a grip on my nerves. I could do this. For him, I could do this, and I could say these things. And I would be strong. Fearless. "Especially to you. To any man. But it doesn't hurt as much as you would imagine. Because I found that I want to live. The moment I left that place, I knew I would not go back. Not just physically. Mentally. Emotionally. It...it doesn't mean that there are some days when I don't feel sad. Or that there are certain things I have not overcome," I hesitated, but only for a moment, "I absolutely hate beds."

He drew back sharply, understanding dawning in his eyes. I looked at him, and let him see that I was still here. I was still complete, and that saying it did not mean I would break down even if I felt like it. I didn't always need to break down. Sometimes I just wanted to be strong, because I knew that at last I could be.

"Lacey...I'm...I'm sorry," he whispered, studying me intently.

"I have not slept in a bed in over three years," I stated calmly. "I intend to conquer that one day. I refuse to let my fears claim me, or stand in the way of me living as normal as possible. I won't deny that sometimes I'm afraid, or that I have used Erik as a protective shield. Or that I will ever stop hiding behind him, because he makes me feel safe. I needed these three years to change. To heal. And I believe that I have done about as much as I ever will. I want to move on with my life in all ways. I won't let anything stand in my way."

Not even you, I thought to myself. And definitely not Christine. He had listened, seemingly fascinated by my bold outlook on life. I hoped that there was something profound that he realized. That I was not weak. I was not Christine, and I was not weak because _I _wanted to live. I would never become that sad, melancholy creature that he married.

To prove it, I smiled. A genuine, heartfelt smile that was possible because I was looking at him, and he was looking at me with a different expression in his eyes. I thought, just for a moment, that it resembled admiration.

"Why me?" he demanded suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You...in the study...you could have let me know...that it was you. Why...?"

I hesitated a long time, certain now that the only thing I had left to fear about him was that he would break my heart. "I trusted you," I finally said, "and I knew you wouldn't hurt me."

"I didn't hurt you?" he asked quietly. "Lacey, are you sure?"

"You didn't hurt me. Why do you keep asking me that?"

He blinked, then glanced down, looking surprised that our hands were still clasped together. "I...don't know."

I didn't believe him, but I patted his hand. "You were the first man to bring me pleasure," I said bluntly.

His eyes shot to mine, and he looked away immediately, his breathing changing to a harsh exhale. Slowly his eyes wandered back to me. "First?" he asked suspiciously.

"Only," I amended with a chuckle.

"Lacey, I still...I don't know what to think. What to say. About that," he said lamely. "It changed everything."

"I know," I agreed. But while the change had come as a shock to him, it had not been an unpleasant surprise to me. Perhaps he needed more time to think of me that way. Or more time to let go of the past. I smiled softly at him, then stood to move across the room. "I'm sorry that I deceived you. But I'm not sorry that it happened."

"But why?" he exclaimed, taking a deep breath. "I mean...Christine did not...we did not have passion...And you have been hurt so much, Lacey. How can you not be sorry? After what your husband did to you...and everything else. How could you tolerate me...when she could not?"

"Oh," I breathed, my mouth falling open.

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, rubbing his eyes. "I have no right..."

"I want to tell you something," I interrupted. He stopped and stared at me expectantly. "My wedding night, while not pleasant, was consensual. Blaise was the cruelest man alive, and I hate him with all of my heart. But he never raped me. Blaise never so much as hit me. Not once...not even once."


	41. After Everything, Still Hearbreak

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

I stared at her, uncomprehending. She had consented? To...to him? I had met Blaise Soboul, and thought he resembled a weasel. An image flashed in my mind of him touching her, and anger shot through me.

"Excuse me?" I practically growled.

"I consented to my wedding night," she said softly. "I was very young. Only seventeen, and I had just lost my father. I didn't even know I had the right to refuse...not that it would have done any good. He was determined to consummate the marriage, so that I could not have it annulled. And I was curious."

"Curious?" I echoed dumbly. "_Curious_?"

"Don't use that tone with me," she said, arching a golden brow. "It was my wedding night. What I thought would be my _only_ wedding night. And my mother had written me a letter on the day I was born, telling me things that she would never get to say before she died. I would not have chosen Blaise as my husband if he were the last man on earth. But since I had no choice, then I did not fight with him. I didn't say that I was eager. I said I was curious."

I blinked, remembering that my mother had written me a letter as well on the day of my birth. And from it I had taken to heart every word she said about loving and honoring women, and what my duty as a husband should be: making my wife happy...

"He didn't hurt you?" I whispered.

"I didn't say _that_. Just that he didn't abuse me in that way," she answered sadly. "There are other things that have happened in my life besides the hospital, Raoul. That place was just the worst of it, but my marriage was the beginning."

Her eyes were haunted, and it tugged at my heart to see her like that. Lacey made me feel somewhat inadequate when I spoke to her. Because she was so alive. So vibrant. I felt as if I could never possibly keep up with her. I was dead, and she was alive. I was glad to know that for the most part she was truly happy with her life. She was moving on, something I wasn't certain I would ever be able to do.

"It was over much sooner than I expected," she continued, and I fought to hide a smile at the implication of that. "And it wasn't painless. But I think my willingness made him feel less confident. He wasn't truly pleased with me unless he could make me cry, and he refused to speak with me at all if I was angry."

"I'm sorry, Lacey," I offered, unsure of what to say.

She sat down beside me again, a hesitant expression on her face. "We truly hated one another, Raoul. But I was so young...even for awhile after we married I thought that things might change. That he might change."

"Why?"

Lacey smiled almost wistfully. "You never read romance novels, do you?"

I shook my head gravely. "No. Most certainly not."

"There is always a beast of a husband in those novels. The wife does not want to be married to him, yet he wins her heart through his gruff, yet kind ways. In the end, he becomes well heeled and dotes on her. I thought, at the tender young age that I was, that it might happen in my marriage. It did not take long for him to shatter my dreams, and make me realize he was a real beast. He revealed his true self, and I payed the price for being naive."

"What did he do to you?" I demanded, my voice soft, yet not hiding my inner fury.

"He starved me," she replied simply, staring down at the carpet. "I lived on bread and water for months, until the servants found a way to bring me food. He locked me in my room and left me to rot. I would have died if they had not helped me."

Without thinking I pulled her in my arms. Whether she needed my comfort, or I simply needed to comfort her was irrelevant. I just wanted to hold her, and once she was there nothing else mattered. She wasn't sobbing emotionally, but I did hear her sniffle. Her hands (and I was discovering that Lacey was an opportunist) found their way inside my coat and caressed my back. It had been my mistake, after all, to touch her. She was making me pay a heavy price, indeed.

Resting my chin against her head, I breathed in her sweet scent. No perfume. No distinctively flowery odor. Just Lacey, and whatever intoxicating blend of chemicals that God had prescribed for her.

"Why?" I asked softly, determined to keep this embrace unromantic, but not wanting to let her go.

"I was too curvy for his liking," she whispered, her voice muffled against my chest. "He doesn't like fat women."

My arms tightened around her. "You are not fat. Stop saying that."

"Am too."

"Lacey," I sighed, exasperated. "You are built precisely the same as Jacqueline. You are beautiful."

"How so?"

I tilted her back so that I could see her face. She looked impish, and I knew she'd been teasing me. "Fishing for compliments, are you?"

"Always!" she sang, smiling.

"Do you really think that about yourself?" I asked seriously.

"No. I love the way I look," she answered, her smile changing from sweet to seductive in a blink. "Don't you?"

"Lacey..."

"Just one kiss," she said softly, her hand rubbing a slow circle on my back. Silence stretched between us, and the rub became a caress, firm and sensual. . "That's all I ask, then you may return to your room."

"Lacey, I'm not...," I swallowed, watching as she dampened her lips, her eyes concentrated on my mouth. "Lacey."

She blinked, then her eyes flickered up to mine. "I'm not asking for anything else, Raoul. Just one kiss. It can't get us into too much trouble. And if you don't want this...if you don't want me, then I won't ask again."

"I do want you," I murmured, my hand skimming up her neck. I allowed my thumb to stroke the skin over her pulse, watching her eyes close, and feeling a tightness over my entire body at her response. Her mouth parted, and the rest of my speech was forgotten as I fell under her spell. I was a slave to her whim, and right now Lacey wanted me to kiss her.

It was my duty, as a gentleman, to obey.

"Lacey, Lacey, Lacey," I chanted, brushing my mouth over hers. She moaned softly, her nails digging into my flesh, and all thoughts of resistance were gone. I wanted her. I needed her. Needed to touch her, and to taste her. To make love to her, and complete every random thing I had ever imagined doing with her since that night in my study.

"Yes," she whispered, leaning in closer. Her eyes opened briefly as I kissed her, our lips barely meeting in a slow and tantalizing dance. I could not remember a sweeter kiss. A more erotic thing that had happened to me, and this was just a kiss.

Lacey's lips strayed for a moment, grazing my jaw, then a few sensual nuzzles to my neck. Her hands moved from my back to my hair, her fingers tangling in the locks and holding me close. Right where she wanted me.

I nipped at her ear and she gasped, arching against me. Her mouth found mine again, and the kiss changed from innocent to wild. Our tongues met, searching and caressing. Explosive desire raced through me, reaching into the depths of my soul and resurrecting the desperate memories of need that had plagued me for months. Years. I had never felt this with Jacqueline. Never felt this tenderness, and this absolute disregard for everything except for completion.

"Raoul," she groaned as my hand teased her breast. "Raoul, stop."

"Stop?" I choked, disbelieving. I realized then who I was kissing, not that I had really forgotten. My hand fell away from her breast, and I was once again unsure what to do.

This was Lacey, and I wanted her more than I had ever wanted another woman. But it was just so damned hard to believe. And the fact that I found her so desirable was hard to believe. She wasn't a temptress like Jacqueline, but by God she tempted me more than any other woman. Perhaps I did not want all that Jacqueline offered. I had long believed I needed a woman who put on an act, so that I could feel wanted. So that I did not leave her bed feeling inadequate.

But Lacey was not an actress. And it was a complete shock that I did this to her. A wonderful shock, to be sure. But a shock nonetheless. It was real, and it was pure, and I wanted it...wanted her...very badly.

"I said I would not...I...you are not," she stammered, then took a breath. "You are not ready for what I want."

"Excuse me?"

"Not that," she blushed, glancing down between us. "I...I want everything, Raoul. A husband, and I want to start a family."

I flinched, and slowly released her. "I'm sorry."

Lacey looked away, her breathing hard and uncertain. I could see disappointment in her eyes, but she slowly recovered and erected a wall. It was firmly in place when she turned back to me.

"I know you are not ready," she said softly. "I just want to know if you will ever _be _ready. Is it something you will at least consider?"

"I don't want to marry again, Lacey. I'm sorry."

Her mouth tightened, and she squinted at me. "I am not like your wife," she said quietly. "I will not ever be like that. And it was not your fault that she was so sad."

"I do not want more children," I continued, closing my eyes. "There are a mountain of things that I do not want. I desire you. You are beautiful, and a man would be a fool to not desire you. But I just can't..."

I opened my eyes and found her expression sad and distant. I felt sunk, with no way out. She was unhappy, and there was no longer anything I could do to cheer her up. Pulling her back in my arms invited disaster, and now it was clear: we would not be friends, because she wanted something I could not give. I was convinced that I had never been more depressed than I was as I realized I would lose her, before I had ever really had her.

I had found her heart, and it had been purer and sweeter than any person I had ever known. She was beautiful inside and out, and now she would be gone from my life for good.

"That was what I wanted to know," she said after several moments, blinking away tears. "Goodnight, Raoul."

Lacey put her hand on my shoulder and kissed my cheek, and I knew that I would desire her forever. I wanted her...I wanted to say yes just to be with her. To make her happy...but I was no longer willing to sacrifice my freedom for someone else's happiness. I had done that for too long, and I just couldn't imagine going through another failed marriage. And I certainly couldn't stomach the thought of placing a child in her womb, and watching as she lost her vitality, then finally died.

I captured her face in my hand and wiped away her tears, knowing there would be more once I left. But I was telling her no, and denying my right to console her. So I did the only thing I could. I kissed her once more.

"Goodnight, Lacey," I whispered, then left her alone.

I did not quite reach the hallway when I heard her quiet sobs.


	42. Confrontation

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Despite the uneasiness between us, there were no hateful words exchanged over the next few days. Really, there was nothing left to say at all. I felt a sense of loss that I could not have what I wanted with him, but I kept my distance and he kept his. Dom was more than happy to fill in the space that Raoul left during my visit, but for appearances I did not let him get too close. And really, I didn't want him too close.

It amused him that he had absolutely no effect on me, and he took me for a walk around the estate just hours before Blaise and his new bride were due to arrive – in an attempt to calm my nerves.

"Are you worried?" Dom asked softly, tilting his head toward mine.

"A little," I confessed. "But I know that he cannot hurt me anymore. And Raoul will make sure that he never does."

"I admire your devotion to him, even though you don't seem particularly well suited," he stated, a questioning look in his eyes. "How long have you been in love with him?"

"Oh...I...," I blushed, and realized he was quite serious. "I don't know, really. Does a girl of fifteen feel true love, or just a strong case of infatuation?"

"It depends on the girl," he answered slowly. "In my experience, the first reaction is usually the truest."

"Then I have loved him for ten years," I replied, feeling my throat tighten. "But really,_ really_ loved him for perhaps the last two."

"It is good that you are marrying him then," he said cautiously. "To marry a man that you love...it is precious, indeed."

I smiled up at him, though it was not an easy thing to do. "And you, Dom? Will you marry for love?"

"No. I don't think so. Duty? Yes. Convenience? Certainly. And if she is half as beautiful and kind as you, then I will be happy with her."

"You have a silver tongue, Lord Blackmore."

Dom grinned, clearly pleased that I was not simpering to his off-handed compliment. "You know, being half French I find that English women simply cannot get enough of me. I have a different accent than these dandies around Town, and they love when I speak to them with words they cannot understand. I could tell them their hair was atrocious, and their dress made them look like a white rhino, and they would devour each word from my lips as if it were pure honey."

"How devilish of you," I murmured, arching a brow. "And yet?"

He smiled again. "And yet I have met numerous Frenchwomen, and my English side does not have the slightest effect on them. Perhaps that is the challenge I need. To conquer the heart of a noble, hot blooded Frenchwoman. I will know, then, that I will always be...satisfied."

"Perhaps that_ is _a challenge you need," I agreed. "When, may I ask, will you be traveling to France in search of this hot blooded conquest?"

Dom threw his head back and laughed, his black hair falling out of the slick style he had combed it into. He was handsome. Very. And fit. But I could not ignore the fact that his lips had kissed half of London, and he'd probably dipped his wick into just as much of it.

"You are a treasure, Diana. Truly," he said, still laughing. "I hope Raoul knows that he has a gem."

I gave him a strained smile as he led me into the courtyard near the open conservatory doors. "He ought, don't you think?"

"I do," he said immediately, his tone grave. "I really do."

"Thank you for the walk. I really would like to go upstairs and rest before this evening," I murmured, withdrawing my hand from his arm.

"A moment, Diana," he requested softly. "I know that you are not yet betrothed..."

My eyes widened, and I stepped back from him. "Lord Blackmore..."

"It is not my intention to frighten you," he said gently. "I would just like to offer something. You don't have to respond."

"I..."

"I am not professing to love you, but I do like you a great deal. I would be honored to court you, Diana. Even if the Vicomte courts you, then there is nothing that states that you cannot have two suitors. My mother would be delighted to turn her title over to you one day," he said, his tone a bit rushed. "And I know my reputation is somewhat tarnished, but I will be a faithful husband. Just think about it...please."

"Dom, I..."

I felt oddly flattered. Or perhaps it wasn't odd. I wanted to live...and this was it. _This_ was living. Most girls had more than one suitor. More than two, even. And Raoul was not interested. He had made that clear many times. But I could not marry Lord Blackmore. Not just because of his reputation. But because it would mean I would have to leave France. Leave Erik, and the family that I had given myself to.

It would be away from Raoul, certainly, but I didn't want that either. Still...it was a flattering offer. And no one said I had to agree to marry him.

"I will think about it," I said softly.

Dom smiled, looking quite victorious. "My mother is hosting her ball in a week. I trust you will save me a dance."

"I will do so."

"Then it is settled."

Settled? Nothing had been settled. I had said I would _think_ about allowing him to court me. But he was striding from the room before I had a chance to respond.

- -

Lady Emma Wakefield was not what I expected. The men and women had been separated prior to the actual dinner, although Raoul was with Esme and I. Blaise was somewhere in the house with Dominick and his father. I had not seen him, and he would not know anything about my presence until we had talked with Lady Wakefield, and made her see what a monster she was marrying.

Then, the bomb would drop, so to speak.

Lady Wakefield was a slightly odd woman. Dom had called her eccentric, and on the shelf. However, she was a very pretty woman, some three years older than I, but still retaining a youthful radiance that true innocence seemed to grace her with.

And she was probably even battier than I was, on a bad day.

Her eyesight, for one, was God-awful, which was obvious by her thick spectacles. And her taste in clothing was worse. She was wearing (not kidding) a green dress trimmed in red, with burnt orange stripes running down the bodice. And a stuffed bird of some sort adorning a large white hat.

Really. I'm not kidding about the stuffed bird. I think it was a canary. Or at least it was yellow.

"Lady Wakefield," Esme began after chatting for a few moments. "There is something that we feel we must bring to your attention."

"Oh?" she raised her brow, looking at all of us with open curiosity. "And what is that?"

Raoul and I looked at one another a moment, and he covered my hand with his. "Lady Wakefield, your betrothed...is already married," he said gently. "To Diana."

She looked over at me, her eyes widening. "But I..."

"I'm very sorry," I said softly. "I felt it was my duty to inform you. I actually came to England seeking a divorce. It was a surprise to find out that the banns had been announced. I'm sorry I did not arrive sooner."

Her mouth opened, then closed again, and she blinked slowly. "I...did not _want_ to marry him," she declared. "Now it seems I won't have to."

"You didn't?" Esme asked, smiling gently. "I am so relieved. Now you may call off your wedding with a sense of relief. Or at least,_ I_ am relieved. I feared you would be upset."

"Upset?" she repeated, then gave a delicate snort. "Of course I'm upset! I was going to marry! Me! Marry a _man!_"

"I should hope so," Esme murmured. "Do not fret, my dear. There is someone out there for you."

"Hah! That I highly doubt!"

"You would not have enjoyed being married to him," I said softly. "He is cruel, and he would have hurt you, my lady. And he would have destroyed your life."

She stared at me curiously as I handed her a book.

"This was written by a friend of mine. It is in French. I'm not sure if you can read it, but Blaise is depicted in that book. He is not a Baron's son, by the way."

"He's not?" she asked, opening the book and squinting at the title.

"He isn't even a Montausier," I added. "Carolina is his aunt. Not his mother. And Blaise is a physician. A psychiatrist. They were trying to hoodwink you, Lady Wakefield."

"My God," she whispered. "He would have put me in Colney Hatch!"

Raoul and I looked at one another, then I nodded. "Yes. Most likely."

She stared down at the book for several moments. "I cannot read a word of this."

"He is a monster, my lady. Be very glad that you escaped his clutches," I said softly.

Raoul squeezed my hand, and I closed my eyes, loving the feel of him. I squeezed back, glad that he could still comfort me. Glad that there was still something there, and not just sadness.

"I did not find him pleasant," she said absently. "My father wanted the match, but he has been very sick."

"And you are the only surviving relative, correct?" I prodded.

"Yes," she murmured. "I suppose I should not be surprised. I've had many fortune hunters sniffing around me, but I had the luxury of resisting them when I was younger. Now...well, I don't."

"There's still time," Esme said gently. "Why, you are still possessing your beauty."

She beamed. "I am, aren't I?"

I winced as she touched her hat slightly, as if she were significantly proud of her ensemble. Being French, I was very conscious of my sense of fashion, though I was not a snob. But really...this was awful. Bloody awful.

"Of course you are," Esme deadpanned. "And you must come to my ball next week! There you will surely find a suitable man to court you. One with honor, and much better manners."

"I certainly will," Lady Wakefield said with dignity. "Now if you will excuse me, I have a betrothed to ream."

I stood abruptly, feeling Raoul hold me back. "Lacey, are you sure?" he whispered in my ear. "You don't have to do this."

His eyes bore into mine, intensely blue and with such a calmness that I breathed a sigh of relief. He was prepared to be there for me, to protect me from Blaise, and from anyone if he needed to. It brought me peace to know that even if he wasn't prepared for a wife, he did care about me. Perhaps not just as a friend. But perhaps not enough to commit himself just yet. Even now I wanted him to love me, and hoped that he would.

"I can do this," I said firmly, then surprised him with a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you, Raoul. Do you have my papers?"

He caressed the front of his coat and nodded.

"Then let's get him," I said, smiling to dispel my nervousness. It was amazing how a smile could calm my fears, and apparently his too. Raoul took my hand and led me from the room, strong and stoic beside me as I prepared to face the man that left me to die.


	43. Leaving Nothing Left Unsaid

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

If there was anything I expected, it was not that she would square her shoulders and walk into the room with her head up. I had imagined her cowering behind me as I calmly explained with near violence that I was going to kill him for hurting her. But Lacey was not weak, that much I could see. Whatever fears she had were put on hold as she followed Emma Wakefield into the room. Both of them looked fierce and angry, but despite Lacey's five and a half foot height, she was not quite as intimidating as Emma Wakefield's lean six foot frame. Though Lady Wakefield's battle regalia was a somewhat offsetting blow to her spine of steel.

Blaise and Lord Blackmore had their backs to us, and Emma marched straight over to him and grasped his shoulder rather roughly.

"What...what is the meaning of this?" he demanded, spilling a drink all across his shirt. "You...I...Lady Wakefield. You suprised me," he finished, subduing his tone a great deal.

Behind Emma's body, which towered over him nearly a foot, he could not see Lacey. But he spotted me immediately.

"You surprised me too, _Baron Montausier_," she hissed, then pushed him hard. He stumbled backwards, yet sadly did not fall. "I can see you look rather shocked, _my lord."_

"I...I can explain," he stammered, looking over at me again. "Please, Lady Wakefield. Allow me to explain."

"No," she said frostily.

Anger crossed his face for the first time. "You will listen to me, you atrocious giraffe, or I will make you listen."

"That would not be advisable," Lord Blackmore said when he advanced on her one step. "If you so much as touch her, I will break you in half. Now sit down. You will be doing most of the listening this evening."

It was clear from the way Emma Wakefield's head snapped around that she was surprised by his bold statement. "Thank you, Dom," she said quietly. "But I can handle him. And he will listen to Diana, if I have to sit on him myself."

His weaselly eyes darted around the room, then he straightened his shirt. "I think not. This is an insult, Lady Wakefield, that you would believe that man. Whatever lies he has told you will ruin our chances of marriage."

"Oh, I think those are shot to hell already," she sneered, then stepped to one side, giving him a perfect view of Lacey.

Blaise's first look at his wife was one of puzzlement. As if he could not quite place the beautiful woman standing before him, an almost feline smile of pleasure on her face. Then...it was clear that he understood what was taking place, and what we were doing to him.

He bolted towards the door, but was brought up shortly by Zachary, who just stepped in front of him and nothing more. "Going somewhere?" he asked silkily, shrugging his shoulders as he did when he was aggravated.

Blaise did an excellent three point turn, stammering and staring at all of us. Without his family around him, and without the threats he was capable of doing, he finally faced his wife.

"Diana..."

"Hello, Blaise," she returned quietly. "Surprised to see me?"

"I..." His lips moved, but no sound emerged.

The Earl placed a hand on my shoulder, indicating he was going to leave and give us privacy, and he took his wife with him when he left.

"Diana," he repeated, then looked at me. "de Chagny."

"Monsieur Soboul," I greeted, watching as he blanched.

"I thought you were dead," he uttered, looking pained. "Truly, I did."

"Disappointed?" Lacey asked sweetly, rocking on her heels. "The last time we were together, you were telling Victor Clarke that he could do as he pleased with me, and to beat me if I gave him any trouble. Not that he needed your permission. They did as they wanted in there, with no one to stop them."

"Diana, please..."

"Please?" she snarled suddenly, marching across the room to him. _"Please?_ You do not know the meaning of the word please. You do not know what it means to beg!"

Zachary was by her side in an instant, restraining the man when it didn't look as if he needed restrained. He began patting the man swiftly across his body, from his shoulders to his ankles.

"What are you doing? Take your hands off me!"

"Just making certain you are not armed," Zachary drawled, then smirked at him. "As if you would be stupid enough to pull something on all of us."

Blaise stepped back and glared at Lacey. "You fat little hoglet, you're going to pay for this!"

Reacting precisely as she had when Sebastian had called her a strumpet, she reared back and punched him in the nose. Not a slap. Not a glancing blow. She caught him off guard, and this time he did go down, floundering on the floor and moaning.

"There, there!" Zachary called cheerfully, ruffling Lacey's hair. "I did teach you something after all!"

Blaise rolled on the floor in agony, clutching his nose. Dom immediately hefted him up by the collar. "None of that. My mother will hit you twice as hard if you bleed on her floor," he said cheerfully, looking at Lacey with a smile. "Now, sit down like I said for you to do. And keep your trap shut."

He shoved him into a leather chair, then handed him a handkerchief to hold over his nose, looking quite pleased with the whole situation. Lacey, I noticed, was trembling.

I strode forward and examined her hand, finding her knuckles extremely red but the skin unbroken. "Are you alright?" I murmured.

She jerked her face around to mine. "I...of course. I'm just...angry," she said, her breath hissing past her teeth. "I had no idea I could ever be this angry. I think I would like to kill him."

Her features were tight, her eyes as intense as a bolt of lighting and narrowed to slits. I pulled the paper from my pocket and set it down on a table in front of Blaise along with a pen.

"Sign this, Soboul," I said quietly. "Then we may proceed with the rest of the evening."

He glanced up at me, his features pinched with pain and a lot of fear. "What are you going to do with me?"

"I am considering hiring a Bow Street Runner and having him haul you back to Paris, along with your errant Uncle and Aunt. Citing fraud and negligence as reasons for your imprisonment. But I highly doubt you will be prosecuted in France. Many years have passed since your crimes against the residents in Bicetre. Still, the government is looking for you, Soboul. Actively. I think you know what happens to men who embarrass the government."

"No," he whispered, glancing up at Lacey. "Please, Diana."

"Do not say those words to me. Sign the paper, Blaise. Sign it. Now!"

He examined the documents, each of them. "A divorce? And..."

"A confession," she supplied with glee. "A complete confession, which will implicate your Uncle and Aunt Montausier in the attempted fraud on Lady Wakefield. I amended that myself this morning. Also it details what you and your family did to me. Sign it, Blaise."

"Or else," Zachary put in, cracking his knuckles.

He signed, rapidly, then sank back against the chair. "I wish to leave."

"Oh, you will," I said quietly. "You will leave England. You will not return to France. And I will find you on occasion, so I had better never hear of you attempting fraud on another woman again. Diana, is there anything else you wish to say to your husband? Do it now, I have planned the next few minutes of his life for him, and he_ will_ pay rapt attention."

Lacey blinked at me, then looked back at Blaise. "Yes. There is something else I need to say. But I want you all to leave. This is between me and him."


	44. Bow Street

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

Raoul immediately protested leaving me alone with him. And truthfully it made me nervous for him to go, so I turned around and stared at him for several moments.

"There are things I don't want you to know," I said softly.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight."

The rest of them shuffled out of the room, but Raoul stayed behind, his arms crossed over his chest and a belligerent expression on his face. Sighing, I looked back at Blaise. He was sweating, his dark eyes wide with panic. "Diana, I really must leave. Now."

"You aren't going anywhere," Raoul barked at him. "Not until I say you are. Be silent, or I will gag you."

"Raoul..."

His eyes slid over to mine, his face softening. "It's alright, Lacey," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "You can tell him whatever you want."

Yes, I could. But there were some things I really did not want Raoul de Chagny to know. However, since it was clear that he was not going to leave, then I would try not to let him overhear. I moved to sit in a chair near Blaise, and studied him. He had aged since I had seen him last. He was balding, thinner, but otherwise remained the same cruel eyed man who I was forced to marry. I felt suddenly as if I were about to break, and I knew I had to ask him what I needed to, so that I could leave.

My insides twisted, and I felt nauseous, but I had to know. There were other people I could ask, but I wanted to hear it from him.

"What did Victor use to kill the babies?" I whispered.

He flinched, and out of the corner of my eyes I could see Raoul had stiffened. "What babies?" Blaise asked, looking ill.

"You know what I am talking about," I hissed. "Do not play games with me. What did he use?"

"I...I don't know," he faltered, shrinking when I vaulted to my feet. "Please, Diana. I don't know. Honestly."

"You are a doctor! Tell me what he used! Tell me!" I demanded, growing a little hysterical.

"I...I suppose silphium, or perhaps quinine," he babbled, "or several other herbal alternatives. Queen Anne's Lace, or pennyroyal..."

"Is it permanent?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know."

Tears of frustration and anger, and infinite sadness slipped down my cheeks. I slapped him. Hard, then did it again, satisfied to watch a bright red imprint glaze upon his cheek. He didn't look me in the eyes, but his jaw tightened.

"_You_ are the pig," I said with venom. "A swine, through and through. You do not deserve to live, and it is my wish that Raoul takes you straight to Bow Street after he has beaten the bloody hell out of you. I only wish I had Victor here. And those g-guards."

I sobbed, and turned away, finding Raoul already there to put his arms around me, murmuring words of comfort in my ear. He told Blaise not to move, then led me outside to where Rebbecca was waiting with Zachary and Dom. Rebbecca took one look at me and began to cry, and I went to her and let her hold me. Raoul and Zachary strode back into the room, and a moment later Blaise was hauled outside with each of them holding an arm as he dragged his heels, protesting loudly.

"Are you ladies alright?" Dom asked softly.

I nodded, feeling weak and frightened, and wanting Raoul back. It hurt. More than words could say it hurt, and I did not want to remember those painful memories, but I did. I was not normally a weeper, but I could do nothing more than tremble and cry, feeling Rebbecca stroking my back soothingly.

"Do you want to watch?" Dom offered, cocking one eyebrow up. "They should be getting started right now."

"Yes," Rebbecca declared, then tugged me towards the open front doors. "I think we do."

Raoul was rolling his sleeves back, his jacket tossed to one side as Blaise stood with his chin touching his chest. It was as if he knew defeat. He knew...and he did nothing. Zachary was standing in front of his carriage, holding back a bewildered looking footman, and an amused driver.

"This is going to hurt," Raoul declared grimly. "It is her wish, and I only hope I inflict you with half as much pain as you caused her."

Blaise said nothing. "Look at me," Raoul commanded. "Be a man, and look me in the eyes. Or better yet, look at the woman you have dishonored."

Impatiently Raoul grasped the remaining scraps of hair on his head, and forced his chin up. There was murder in his eyes. Blaise might have said nothing, and might have did nothing, but he was looking at me with hatred burning in his depths.

The first punch was squarely in his gut. Raoul drove his fist deep inside, bowling the smaller man over with a horrendous groan. I kept my eyes on him, realizing distantly that Robert, Esme, and Emma had joined us and were watching the process as well. It did not escape my notice that no one protested this, not even the men who had driven him here.

Raoul steadied him, waited until he had caught his breath, then sunk another fist into his stomach in the same location. Blaise coughed loudly, and was not given a reprieve this time when Raoul had done it again. Each blow...I counted twelve...aimed at his stomach in hard blows, and likely would leave bruises for weeks. There was a precision to it. A methodical and calculated maneuver that ensured maximum pain, and probably did nothing to Raoul's hands except cause a mild stinging.

Blaise gagged, then vomited, and Raoul stepped back and watched, his own breathing troubled. "Remember this night the next time you think of marrying. And know that if I find you again, it will be much worse. Zachary...put him to sleep," he instructed lightly.

"Glad to," Zachary said succinctly. He lifted Blaise to his feet, vomit and all, then promptly laid him out with one well landed punch to his jaw.

Zachary wiped his hand in disgust, then glanced over to the footman and driver. "Load him up. We're taking him to Bow Street."

- -


	45. Fearless

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

The magistrate at Bow Street had indeed heard of Blaise Soboul, because the government in Paris had put warrants out for him the same year as Erik's book had come out. London was the first place they looked, and their diligence had paid off. The magistrate accepted his unconscious body, and I dusted my hands of him and returned to Clandon House, finding the remainder of the dinner party conversing in the parlor. Lady Wakefield had stayed on for dinner, and was clearly delighted to spend an evening out minus the company of her former betrothed.

"I truthfully am glad to be rid of him," she confessed, shuddering. "I deplore Thomas and Carolina, and he was no better. But my father has wanted to see me married, and he was the only man to offer."

Esme glanced pointedly at Dominick, who was gazing at Lacey. "There will be someone for you, my dear. Right, Dominick?"

"What?" he blinked, then glanced around. "Oh, yes. Of course, Em."

She snorted, clearly not convinced. "We have been through every season together for the last eleven years, Dom, and if it were not for you and very few other kind gentlemen, I would never have danced. I would have been a complete wallflower."

"Not true!" he exclaimed, his eyes innocently wide. "With your sense of style, you could never be mistaken for any sort of furnishing."

"And what," she asked archly, "is that supposed to mean?"

"Absolutely nothing."

Emma seemed to glare at him, but her expression was discernible beneath her thick glasses. Without them, I imagined she was a very beautiful woman. Her hair was nearly hidden as well beneath that hat, but it looked rather dark. An almost sable brown. Judging by the looks of things, she adored Dominick as much as every other woman in London.

"Well, it has been an eventful day," she sighed, then glanced at Lacey. "I am truly sorry about your predicament, Madame. I hope that things go well for you."

"Emma, why don't you spend the rest of the night here?" Esme offered, concern in her eyes. "It is rather late, and we know that your father won't mind. We can send someone over with a note. I worry for your safety."

"That is very kind of you...," she began, but Robert cut her off.

"Nonsense, gel. Lord Halifax would have my hide if he knew of the things that happened in my house tonight. You're staying, just to ensure that you will be alright. Dominick may escort you home tomorrow." He paused for a moment, then glanced over to his son. "With a maid, of course."

"Hah!" she laughed, sliding a glance over to Dominick. "He is the last man I worry about compromising my reputation. As if it could happen to me in any case!"

Esme showed her out, chiding her the entire way, with Robert trailing behind. Sitting beside Lacey, Dominick pulled out the book that she had given to Emma.

"Emma asked me to translate this for her," he said softly.

Lacey looked to me, her face frozen for a moment. "Did she?"

"I knew what it was immediately. As did my mother," he continued. "She receives books from Paris all the time. She showed me this last year sometime."

"We were not intending to deceive you, Lord Blackmore," I stated calmly. "I will always put Diana before anyone else."

"As you should," he nodded. "My father has not seen this, and cannot read French. He doesn't know about this yet."

"He can't?" Lacey asked, surprised. "I thought all noblemen were supposed to be bilingual."

"He never grasped the language," he shrugged. "It was the same with Italian, and with German. There are some people that do not have the patience for learning it. His father tried to beat it into him, and it never stuck. But I will wait until you have left to tell him. It isn't going to help matters now in any case."

"He is sensitive about your family's past, isn't he?" Lacey asked softly.

"You mean my extremely mad great-great grandmother? Yes. It was another thing his father beat into him. Protecting the family history. It makes no sense to me, after all, it happened over a hundred years ago. But it is important to him that we are not involved in a scandal. I will not translate the entire volume to Emma, but I will think of something to tell her."

"Thank you," Lacey whispered.

"Now," he drawled, standing up. "I can see that you need your rest. I will leave you so that you may gather your wool."

He leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to Lacey's cheek, startling her. She watched him go with an odd expression on her face. One that made my hands clench, and jaw tighten. My adrenaline was still pumping from the beating I had given Blaise.

It had not made me feel particularly good to hit him like that. He was a smaller man. A weaker man. But it had not been about making me feel victorious. It had been about punishment, and giving Lacey something that she wanted. And after hearing what she had asked him, I knew I would do anything for her.

I moved across the room and took Dom's seat, going so far as to pull her hands from her lap and hold them lightly.

"Lacey, Dom was right about you," I said softly.

She looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"He said that you are a woman of great strength and beauty." She blushed, her lips curving into a wan smile. "You are the most courageous woman that I have ever met. I am sorry I never noticed before."

"Oh," she whispered, her eyelashes hiding her thoughts. "Thank you."

"Would you like to talk about what happened tonight?" I questioned gently.

"No. Not...not right now."

Lacey freed one of her hands and traced at the scrapes on my knuckles. A tear slid down her cheek, and her face crumpled. I held her as she cried, soft, shaking sobs that tore at my heart. I pictured Soboul in his cell, begging to be released, and felt anger again, and pleasure at what I had done for the first time. There was no honor in beating a weaker man, but it gave me a sense of satisfaction to know I had beaten a cruel one.

I thought of Lacey and her babies, and wondered how many she had lost. Rebbecca, and the other women. How many, after being fed a poison by Victor Clarke. Zachary had told me a little on the way back from Bow Street, about what Rebbecca's husband had done to the women in his ward. His experiments with toxins, medicines, and yes, abortificants. It released him from responsibility in any unwanted pregnancies that his guards caused, and I knew that of the two, Victor had been far more cruel than Blaise. I wished then that Erik really had drowned him three years ago. It would have felt better than knowing he simply died because he was foolish and had tried to escape.

"I'm sorry," Lacey whispered, once she had settled some. "I'm not very strong right now...but I don't do this often, and I don't want you to think I do this all the time. But _some_times...I can't help it."

I knew what she was really trying to tell me. She was not like Christine. She was not weak, and she did not want me to think that her crying equated to being like my wife.

"I know," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead without thinking too much about it. She felt perfect in my arms. For the first time, I wondered if I was making a mistake in my life. Did I really want to be alone forever? Was I denying myself happiness, out of sheer stubbornness and uncertainty? I hated being alone. That was the hell of it. I hated sleeping alone, taking my meals alone, and I damned sure hated finding release on my own.

But was I really prepared to take a wife, just to ease the loneliness? My life, with the exception of James, was completely empty. I had been distracted by Jacqueline, but I was realizing now that she wasn't what I wanted. I always left her bed, because she never wanted me to stay the night. She was beautiful, and seductive...

But Lacey was something else entirely, and truthfully I desired her more than I did Jacqueline. Her scent, not intoxicating, but subtle and fresh was enough to drive me mad. Her face and breasts, free of powders and perfumes were innocently alluring, and I absolutely loved the animation on her features. Always smiling, always happy. Such a contrast to Christine that it took my breath away.

"Raoul?"

"Yes?" I looked down at her, finding her eyes dry but red, and her mouth open as words caught in her throat.

"I have a favor to ask," she said, closing her eyes. "I have one last fear to conquer. Would you help me?"

My mouth went dry, and all I could do was stare. One last fear...? Did that mean...?

"I want to sleep in a real bed," she rasped softly. "Please, Raoul. It's not...it's not meant to be a vulgar thing...and I'm certain I could not do that in any case...but please...just..."

"Lie beside you?" I supplied, a sense of protection overcoming the hesitation that I felt. She nodded instantly, relieved. "I will do anything you ask of me. Anything, Lacey."

"Tonight," she murmured, opening her eyes to look at me. I was drowning in an ocean of bright blue eyes, pleading and desperate, and I knew there was nothing sexual in her needs. She didn't want a lover tonight. She wanted a friend, and she wanted to feel safe, and in the morning she wanted to be a conqueror, tearing down the last of her fears.

She was my brave, beautiful, and quite fearless friend. And with reluctance I admitted that perhaps, she was even more than that.


	46. A Stammering Man

Zachary and Rebbecca oneshot

For my Zachary fans. This will be in third person, so I do not have to alternate POV and combine them in the story, nor feel the urge to do a sequel. Enjoy!!!

-_ v_ -

Zachary sat, sprawled in a chair near the edge of Rebbecca's bed, watching with silver eyes as she brushed her hair. Damned red hair on a woman. It always got a man into trouble, and more often than not, it was through no fault of his own. And Rebbecca had plenty of it, long, titian, and always perfect.

There was never a time when he didn't think of raking his hands through it, and not always for pleasure. It aggravated her, as he found that it did many women, and sometimes it was amusing to make Rebbecca a little less than...perfect. It made him feel like less of a bumbling, blubbering idiot.

"You handled your anger well," Rebbecca said, meeting his eyes through the mirror. He hadn't realized she could see him watching her, and the way her mouth turned up indicated she did not mind. "I am glad you let Raoul do most of the damage to him. I think Lacey needed to see it."

Zachary shrugged. "It would have hurt worse, and been much bloodier if I had done it. I wouldn't have hit his stomach, though it was just as painful. If not more."

"She loves him," Rebbecca murmured, beginning to braid her hair. "I wish that he could see it. Before Lord Blackmore decides to pursue her."

"It will do no good. She's going back to France, no matter what," Zachary replied, frowning. "Lord Blackmore had better remember what I told him."

"And what did you tell him?" she asked, turning to study him. His black hair had fallen across his tanned face, and shadowed eyes stared out at her above a hooked nose.

"That he had better mind his wick, or I will find a suitable place for my foot," he said, smirking a little. "I gave him my _'I detest problems'_ speech."

Rebbecca grinned. "I love that speech. You use it on everyone, don't you?"

"Only the ones I need to worry about. Never bothered with de Chagny. He seems determined to beat himself enough, though if I had known about that little incident in the study, I certainly would have. You haven't...," he hesitated, then fixed her with a stern look. "You haven't been plotting anything else, have you?"

"Me?" she inquried innocently. "Plotting?"

"_Becca_."

"Zachary," she returned, tying her braid off and flipping it over her shoulder. "Take your shirt off. I'm ready for bed."

Slowly he unbuttoned it, his pulse quickening as she watched him. One day...one day he would make love to her. Probably not tonight. Or even the night after. But for the last two months or so, they had been spending the night together, kissing, touching, and sleeping. And for some reason it gave little Becca a spark of confidence to see him half clothed and obedient to her every whim.

"When are you going to take yours off?" he questioned, his lips curving up when she blushed.

"Mine stays," she said, feeling a flash of guilt, fear, and excitement. "For now."

It was the moments between darkness and daylight that she found her strength - with him. For the last three years she had lived above his rooms. During the first year, she had lived as reclusively as possible. Hiding, bitter, and alone. She had lashed out at everyone, and anyone, and been at a lower point than she wanted to be. She had wanted her independence, and had not wanted to need anyone, but it had been asking too much of herself. In misery, she had cried every night, never realizing the giant of a man living below her had heard every sob. Every shriek of anger, and the fits she had gone through, destroying her home then the relentless task of cleaning it up.

And finally, he had come to her. But it had not been easy. He had broken down her door during one of her rages, where she had lain on the floor and screamed in pain and anger. Unable to suppress it, unwilling to control it, and helpless, not having any idea how to get rid of it. She hadn't been frightened at that point...she had been angry.

_"Are you mad?" he had yelled at her, surprised to find her not cowering, but looking ready to attack him. "Do you want to hit me, little girl? Go on then," he had invited her softly. "Hit me."_

Rebbecca had stared at him, trembling with fear, but not willing to show it. And stared more, certain she had heard him incorrectly. His eyes had looked haunted, desperate, and full of ire.

_"Hit me!" he had bellowed at her, placing his hands behind back and puffing his chest out. "Hit me, damn you! Beat me all you bloody like, but for God's sakes, stop your damned crying! I can't take it!"_

_"Get out," she had whispered, flushing in embarrassment._

_"Hit me!" Zachary had growled, stepping closer._

And suddenly, she had begun, and been unable to stop. The man had not even flinched. He had not done anything, merely stood under the soft blows that she had dealt. Still weak and small from the hospital, she had been unable to even leave a bruise. But she had attacked him with the last of her strength, fighting not him, but demons in her mind. The guard, Devries, and the other man who had worked there. Victor, her husband, and the fear of him coming back.

She had hit Zachary with everything she had. With her anger much stronger than her body, it had not been enough. Not nearly enough. She had wanted to do so much worse to him. In the end she had slumped to the floor, crying real tears instead of hateful sobs.

_"Here," he had said softly, holding out a tissue. Zachary had crouched beside her, staring, and not attempting to touch her. "The next time you want to throw a fit, let me know. I will be glad to find something for you to hit. But the next time I hear you crying from midnight until the sun rises, I'm going to send you straight to Erik's. This stops now, Becca. There are other ways to blow steam. If you let me...I will show you."_

Their relationship wasn't just odd. It was downright strange. From that night on, she had left the door connecting her house to his unlatched, and she had let him teach her. She had focused her energy and pain on him, instead of on her furniture, or on walls, or on herself. And he had allowed her to beat him, until one day she had realized how foolish it was for a grown woman to beat on a much larger and stronger man. Zachary had never said anything, but Erik and Eva had noticed a change, and questioned her about it.

Then suddenly Zachary's body was replaced by a grain sack and a bat, and with Lacey watching, she had destroyed it. The last six months of their acquaintence had taken yet another turn. Zachary had begun taking her places, showing her around Paris. Parts that she had forgotten, and some that she had never seen. Slowly she realized her anger had faded, and she had begun to heal. It wasn't long until she was thinking of Zachary Rougette in an entirely different light.

"Ready?" he asked now, sliding in beside her on the bed.

"Yes," she said, joyful that she did not feel a pinch of fear. "May I?"

"You know that you don't have to ask," he drawled, though he began to recount boxing statistics in his head when her lips grazed his stomach. Rebbecca was an explorer. Seeking, yearning, but not ready to commit to the final act of lovemaking. After the first two attempts, he had realized that she wasn't going to be coaxed into this, and she wasn't going to be seduced. She had to set her own pace, and much of it involved her touching him, while he did nothing. Recalling boring facts was the only thing to keep his mind from straying into dangerous areas.

Rebbecca kissed him again, shyly at first. Bracing one elbow on the bed, and one across his stomach, she let her lips glide over his skin. She marveled at the softness of it, of the rippling of hard muscle beneath the smooth surface. Not all parts of him were so soft. Much of him was rough and scarred, and she touched those parts as well. An old scratch on his chest, a knife scar on his shoulder, and another near his ribs.

There were a million different places on him that demanded her attention, but as of yet there had been no contact beneath his waist, other than accidents. Nor below hers. She knew it likely frustrated him, because on occasion she glanced up and watched his eyes slide closed.

"Kiss me, Zachary," she whispered, scooting up to touch her lips to his. His broad hand cupped the back of her head, and he held her close as he kissed her. She loved the feel of his black stubble scratching her skin, of the gentle way he touched her, despite his enormous size.

Running a hand up his stomach through coarse hair, she hesitantly touched his nipple. He hissed, capturing her hand in his. "Becca," he groaned, pressing her palm against his lips. "I love what you do to me, but some things are too much. Don't tease me, love. I'm not as strong as you think I am."

Rebbecca smiled, feeling dangerous, then moved closer to him. She laid her leg across his and lowered her mouth to his chest, a scant inch above the protested spot. Zachary stiffened, and he rolled his head against his pillow, breathing hard. It excited her to do this to him, and frightened her in the same breath.

"Sit up," he groaned, struggling to do the same himself. "Please, just try this, Becca. Just once."

She let him pull one of her legs across his, and suddenly felt exposed, straddled over him. They were both dressed, though he wasn't wearing a shirt. He kissed her again until she relaxed. Slowly she began to sit down, her eyes widening when she felt hardness between her thighs.

"Zachary!"

"Shhh," he whispered, touching her lips with his fingers. "Just kiss me, Becca. That's all I ask."

Rebbecca nodded, then sat back down. Her eyes closed as she felt him again. It was not the first time she had felt that part of him. It was impossible not to accidentally brush against it when they were kissing, or lying together in bed. Waking in the mornings before him was always interesting. It seemed to have a mind of its own, tenting his trousers with a stunning display of welcome. She had not seen it, but she knew how large it was just from the feel, and from her early morning study sessions. She had not said anything of her dirty thoughts, but she wondered how her sister possibly could have...

"Kiss me," Zachary repeated, his legs stretched before him as he leaned against the headboard. He resisted grinding against her, but his breathing gave away his wants. He had not attempted to complete the act, but this...this was nearly enough. Combined with the last month of their hesitant caresses, and her always sweet kisses, he knew that a short and quick rhythm would ease all his frustrations.

She kissed him again, stealing what little sanity he had left. Still, he did nothing but put his arms around her back and caress her, occasionally venturing close to her breasts. Sometimes she captured his hand and led it there. Tonight was no exception, and he was rewarded when she arched against him, moaning. He didn't always excite her, but there was great passion in Rebbecca. He wanted to free it. He wanted to free her. Despite his hard life, and the way he lived now, there had always been something missing. Even with Eva, he had protected her, but never to this degree. Amber was his love. His life. His precious little daughter.

Rebbecca was a wildcat. A firecracker, and he knew that given enough time her anger might evolve into something more explosive.

Her hands slid through his hair, and she broke her mouth away as he cupped her. Just once her bottom squirmed against him, and he could not resist the groan that tore through him. "Don't," he growled, his fingers pausing over her perfect little globe.

"Zachary...," she sighed, then pressed her chest into his face. "Please..."

His mouth covered her instantly, soaking the fabric, though he used his teeth more than his tongue. She was lost, he could tell, utterly lost, and he wrapped an arm around her waist and rocked upwards. Her head fell back, and he did it again, becoming lost as well. Rebbecca wound her arms around his neck and let him work a strange and arousing motion, feeling something odd and heavy building in her stomach. He had promised her good things. Wonderful things. He had promised that there was a_ 'good part'_. Zachary's mouth had shocked her beyond measure, telling her what he could do with his hands, with his mouth, with...other things. Still, she was frightened of giving that much.

Of giving everything.

Zachary did it again, and she could feel him, hard as iron through her dress. It had worked itself up so much that she was sitting more or less with no barrier other than his trousers and her bloomers. Leaning back slightly brought a different sort of feeling, and an odd burst of pleasure shot through her. It felt exactly as Zachary had described it...except...was that it? Was that _all?_

He stopped moving, noticing her look of puzzlement.

"What is it?" he asked hoarsely.

"I...I don't quite know," she admitted, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe. "I..."

Quickly he moved her from atop him, then stetched out beside her, once again assuming a placid demeanor. "Becca, I'm sorry," he said, his voice low. "I didn't mean to take it so far."

"No, I...," she trailed off, blinking in astonishment. She had not wanted him to stop. She had wanted to feel more. To learn more. But it was not fair to him, especially when she knew how frustrated that he was. It did not make her happy to see him turned away, to see the glimmer of hurt in his eyes. The feelings of doubt that he could not hide. He didn't think he was good enough for her, but in all honesty he was the only man for her. "I love you," she finally said, smiling up at him.

Zachary smiled back, tracing his finger down her cheek. "I love you, Becca," he murmured, then pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I forgot something in my room. I'll be back in a moment."

She watched him leave, bewildered. He was always forgetting things in his room. Or needed a glass of water. Or needed to use the water closet.

One of these days she was going to ask him what was so bloody important that he had to leave. And just when she thought he was getting to the_ good_ part...whatever that was. Maybe Lacey would tell her. Because if she asked Zachary, there was no doubt that he would tell her. But sometimes it was just easier asking a woman. They didn't stammer quite as much.


	47. At Peace

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

_Meanwhile in another, equally interesting part of the house, a lady gets her wish._

**Lacey**

He knocked on my door precisely at midnight, a soft, discreet sound that seemed to echo in my chambers. I opened the door and he quickly stepped inside, looking hesitant and uncertain. I must have been mad to ask him this. I still wasn't positive I could do it, and I truly had no intention of seducing him. I knew that the moment I laid down I was going to freeze, and nothing would encourage a romantic thought in my mind. There was a feeling of anxiety that would not leave me. I felt closed in and hysterical, and could never breathe.

It was odd, really. My nightmares had diminished to infrequent annoyances, yet I had never summoned the courage to lie in a bed. And it had become a ridiculous quirk – one that I was determined to overcome. If only for tonight. I might never be able to do this again, or do this alone. But I wanted to do this for one night, and I wanted to do this with Raoul.

He had made me love him more tonight, than any other time. His devotion. His fierceness and loyalty, and those words that sometimes could mean more, but I was afraid to indulge in believing.

"Thank you," I said softly, crossing my arms over my chest. "I know this must sound ridiculous to you. But I..."

"It's alright, Lacey," he replied, giving me a slow smile. Reassuring me. "I am glad to help you. It isn't a hardship to lie next to a beautiful woman," he teased, though it didn't feel like that to me.

Unwillingly I glanced down at his lips, then looked away immediately. I was not supposed to be thinking those thoughts right now. Suddenly I was certain there would never be a situation when I did not think like that around him. For the last three years my attraction had been suppressed, remaining hidden even from myself. I had not known exactly how much I cared...how much I admired him, until the day of his apology at Erik's.

Now it seemed I could not stop thinking of him in a sexual light...not matter what I was doing. He glanced towards the bed for a moment, then moved towards a small couch alongside the wall. "Zachary and Rachel seem to be getting along very well," he commented.

Surprised – and delighted – I seized the distraction that he tossed me. "Yes. I think they are in love," I blurted out, then blushed mightily when his eyebrows shot up. "Of...of course it is difficult to tell with either of them. And there is the relationship with Eva and Amber to consider..."

"I don't think that will stop them," he said quietly, then reached down and removed a boot.

My eyes focused on that foot, covered in a dark sock. He removed his other boot, and I could only stare. Was he going to unclothe? Completely?

"I think you are right," he continued speaking, but stopped shedding articles of clothing. "I think they are in love. And I think Zachary and Rebbecca are perfect for one another, despite his history with Eva. Rebbecca seems like she needs someone strong beside her. He can certainly handle anything life tosses his way."

I swallowed, then nodded, jerking my eyes up to his. "Of course he can."

"One punch," he murmured thoughtfully. "That was all it took to knock Blaise's lights out. I wonder if I could do such a thing."

"The jaw," I blurted out.

Raoul leaned back against the couch, bracing his hands on his knees, looking at me in question. This felt odd. This felt like a married couple conversing before bed...or what I supposed a married couple ought to do before they got into bed. Was this how he and his wife behaved? I was beleaguered by sudden jealousy, and at the same time began to embrace this domesticated situation.

"Zachary says that if you hit them just right, they will go down like a ton of bricks," I explained, moving to sit beside him. "Right here," I said, pointing to a spot near his chin. "It doesn't have to be particularly hard, as long as it is...quick. And powerful."

"I see," he said, looking amused. "Should I take boxing lessons, do you think?"

"You did well enough on your own," I managed, wondering if he was trying to comfort me or arouse me. He was doing more of the latter, and less and less of the former as my nerves began to climb. "Thank you, Raoul. For everything."

"You are most welcome," he rumbled, smiling slowly. Had he always possessed a dimple? Surely I would have noticed before...

Yes. Definitely arousal.

I skittered away from him, determined not to so much as think about kissing him. Hadn't we completely agreed to be nothing? And I had asked him into my room yet again! Somehow in the moment of weakness, I had forgotten about that. Forgotten that I was supposed to be keeping my distance. It had been three days since the last time he was in here, alone with me, and it felt like a lifetime ago.

I had missed him, even though he had been in the same house. We had spoken, we had even taken a walk together, but we had not come close to discussing what had happened.

"If you have changed your mind, I understand," he said quietly. "You don't have to do this, Lacey. But I want you to know that I would _never _hurt you. Not ever."

"I know that!" I said quickly, glancing at the bed. "It isn't that...it's everything else. I..."

I stopped. Just stopped. Because I could not say that I was in love with him, and this was not a good idea. Or that I wanted him to love me, and that I needed more than he was willing to give. Or that when I returned to Paris, I should never see him again, but I would find it nearly impossible to deny myself that chance.

"I'm ready," I whispered softly. "Could you...could you please get in first?"

Without another word Raoul shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it across the arm of the couch. He climbed onto the bed, fully dressed and lay back, placing his hands behind his head. When it was apparent that I was not going to move, he sat up and extended his hand.

"Come to _me_, Lacey. Ignore everything else. Just come to me."

I swallowed, forcing down the fear, so I could go where I wanted to be. In his arms. That was the only safe place. Where I had always dreamed of being. I put my hand in his and closed my eyes, allowing him to lead me. As he had when we danced together. He took me by the shoulders and gently eased me down, his hand touching my face briefly. I trembled, sensing him above me.

"Open you eyes, Lacey," he ordered, "look at_ me_."

I did, searching his face and finding the same gentle man I had fallen in love with. Raoul, the gentleman. He lay down slowly, his head on the other pillow while I struggled to breathe. It felt as if someone were standing on my chest, and I closed my eyes again as darkness threatened me again.

Instantly he was up again, leaning over me. "Lacey? _Open you eyes_. Don't close them again."

His breath caressed my face, my eyelids lifted to find him staring intently. "How am I supposed to sleep with them open?"

Raoul smiled softly, "You can close them eventually. Just don't be frightened of _me_." He took my hand and lifted it to his lips. My eyes closed for an entirely different reason, then I felt him poke my side.

I gasped, twisting as a spasm shot through my side. He had tickled me! I couldn't recall ever being tickled. At least not since I was a child, and my father had done it. Raoul's deep chuckle prompted me to open my eyes, just as he was preparing to tickle me again.

"Stop that!"

"Why?" he asked, looking amused and devilish. "You're laughing. In a bed."

My eyes widened, and I shifted to my side. "I am?"

"You are," he said gravely, lying down in a mirrored position. "Have I outrun my usefulness?"

"No," I said quickly, grabbing his arm in case he decided to leave. "Please stay."

He hesitated a moment, then took my hand. "Talk to me. It will take your mind off things."

"Talk about what?"

"You've never had a problem talking before," he said wryly. "Tell me more about the enigma that is Lacey Chartraine. What were your hopes and dreams before you married? To be the belle of the ball? Dance the night away on the arms of someone like Lord Blackmore? Break the heart of every man in the world?"

"No," I murmured, embarrassed. It was exactly my dream, and the look in his eyes showed that he knew it. "Please, I fluttered my eyelashes at myself in the mirror enough to achieve a windblown look. But I seldom used my girlish wiles on any man. I believe you were the first."

"Me?" he echoed, his head lifting from the pillow.

I rolled onto my back, staring up at the canopy. It was a moment that could change the rest of the night. The rest of my life, and his as well. Should I confess? Keep silent? Did I have the courage to push him away one more time? Because surely that is what would happen. It would be a demand for his attention, and something he was not willing to give.

I took a breath, then stared more at the green silk brocade above me. "Why did you dance with me?" I asked instead.

Raoul braced himself up on an elbow, gazing down at me. "You mean at your father's?" When I nodded, he smiled slightly, "Because you were pretty, and I wanted to dance with you. Is that such a difficult thing to believe?"

"I wondered if my father put you up to it," I murmured, feeling my face burn. "I wasn't supposed to have been watching. I wasn't old enough."

"Charles knew you were there," he admitted, shifting slightly. "But it was my idea. I wanted to meet you, because you were his daughter, and I had been intending on going away for a while the very next week. Instead I found Christine."

Tears leaked out of my eyes, pulled there by gravity and burning the corners that had been already rubbed raw. I wiped them impatiently, hating that I had never gotten over the sting of him marrying her mere months after our dance. It was foolish, and something that was only worthy of a fifteen year old girl's broken heart. Not a twenty five year old woman.

"What's wrong, Lacey?"

"Nothing...it's been a long day. A long night...," I groaned, then let out a long sigh. "Thank you for everything, Raoul. "My f-father was very fond of you. I...I wish that he were still here."

"Sleep," he said softly, taking my hand and tugging me until I faced him. I went willingly against his chest, taking in his scent; felt him take in mine. I relaxed against him, lulled by a soft stroking rhythm that flowed across my back.

"I love you, Raoul," I whispered, unable to stop the words. They had built up for so long, and I had not done a good job of hiding my feelings in any case. If he didn't already know, then he was blind.

In response, he kissed the top of my head and hugged me tighter.

Silence, I guess, is as good of an answer as any. It hurt too much not to sleep, and I was far too exhausted to send him away. I was tired of fighting my feelings for him. Tired of fighting him, period. And things were never going to be the same anyway. I crossed my arms in front of my chest and let him hold me close, then closer again. I could not see his face, and I couldn't read his mind, but I had never felt more at peace, and more relieved than I did once those words were off my chest.

It was a night of pleasant dreams, but none so sweet as reality.

- -

Sorry, but this thing has been 1/2 finished for 2 days. I started my new job today, and it's full time, 8-5 everyday. And I WON'T be able to write at this job like I did my last one. I had a lot of downtime there. I will try to write more Saturday. Thank you for your reviews, and for your patience.


	48. Water Nymph

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Raoul**

Lacey slept against my chest, perfect and at peace. For the first time in my life, a woman slept in my arms, and I marveled at the swell of tenderness that was nearly choking me. My wife had never done this, not even on our wedding night. I had been too hurt over her confession of pregnancy to even contemplate such a thing, and it had never occurred after that because she had not wanted me there. My mistress had never done this, because she had not wanted me either. Here was Lacey, the last person I had ever expected to do this with. A woman who wanted me. A woman who _loved _me.

My mother had once told me that at some time I would have to stop yearning for what I wanted, and realize what I deserved. I had felt guilty thinking that before. When I was married to Christine, those words had haunted me. Now, did they still apply? And did I deserve Lacey?

No, I was certain that I didn't, but my wants were changing with each little sigh she made in her sleep. She was here because she trusted me. I was helping her overcome something that clearly frightened her because of past trauma, and that made me feel wonderful. Instead of (or just not _only_) desire, I felt something deep and moving for her.

But was that love?

With Christine I had thought she was my soul mate. Half of my heart and hers combining into one. Childhood sweethearts reunited under rather extreme circumstances, falling deeply in love. That sort of thing. But it had definitely not been what I imagined. To find out on your wedding night, while your eager hands are wanting to unwrap your precious bride, that she is already pregnant...to say the least it was a wake up call. While my feelings for Christine were blatant, hers were often obscure. She had told me time and again that she loved me...but always with a vaguely reassuring smile. I had not needed to be reassured. I had believed_ her_. Perhaps it was not me she tried to convince.

I fit my body more closely to Lacey's, merely because she was asleep and I wanted to feel her. To experience all of her. She was warm through the pale lemon colored dress, her knees bent and pressing into my thighs. Slowly I pulled pins from her hair which she had forgotten to take down, then feathered her hair back from her face. This close I could see each freckle, each eyelash as it rested upon her smooth cheek. The way her mouth opened slightly, with shapely raspberry colored lips brushing my shirt.

I continued to breathe in her sweet smell, closing my eyes and committing every detail of her to memory. It was one I would cherish forever, and one that would likely sway the difficult decision I was going to make.

It was somewhat painfully shocking to realize that I _didn't_ want to be alone forever. But was I ready for a wife? Would I ever be ready for that commitment again? And was Lacey even remotely interested in James?

I did not sleep. Instead my mind raced with a million possibilities, and for the first time since Christine's death, I allowed myself to hope. God, did it hurt to even consider opening myself up to that. Lacey snored softly in her sleep, oblivious to the pain in my heart. Since pushing her away and leaving her sounded insanely stupid, I held her, and caressed her back, and touched her hair, and knew I was in love. And if I wasn't, I was indeed very close.

How could I not care about someone like her? Just being around her was enough to make me smile. She always smiled herself. Or had something amusing to say. Or was just perceptive enough to realize when my mood was sour, and poke at my nerves anyway. But I loved that about her. I did. She was unlike anyone I had ever met before.

But most of all...she was not like Christine.

- -

I left her, still sleeping, just after dawn. In the mood for companionship other than my own, I tried Zachary first, but he was not in his room. I summoned Lord Blackmore's valet next, and in half an hour the surprisingly grumpy young lord was sitting next to me in a carriage.

"I'm supposed to escort Lady Wakefield home today," he said dourly.

"We'll be back in plenty of time. I was of a mind to pay her former betrothed a visit," I replied, wondering if I had always loved London as much as I did this morning. I felt younger. For years I had lived a weary, drunken existence, but today I felt refreshed. My body was tighter than a coiled spring, and I had a breathless enthusiasm inside that I had not felt since I was twenty. The question of the day: what I was going to do about it?

"I can't believe Emma of all people got suckered into something like this," he muttered, glaring out the window. "Soboul had better stay in prison. He will be safer there."

My eyebrows rose swiftly, and with it came a smirk. "Considering your reputation, I can't picture Emma Wakefield on your list of conquests. Is there something I don't know about?"

Dom scowled, "Don't be absurd. Emma isn't that sort of girl."

"It sounded like you were a bit protective of her."

He snorted, then fixed me with a intensely bored stare. "Every man in London is protective of Lady Emma. Every man from the lowest, ugliest stable boy, to the most handsome, wealthiest gentleman. Even the women love her. She has captured the heart of every person she has ever met."

It was my turn to look skeptical. "Then why isn't she married?"

"Because she scares the hell out of every man she's ever met," he replied, his mouth quirking a little. "Don't let her atrocious dress style fool you. I rather think that is just one more battle tactic she has adopted to ward off fortune hunters. Pity it didn't work on Soboul."

I couldn't think of one thing frightening about her, except for the dead bird that had been pinned to her hat. And Dom could see my disbelief, because he sighed rather loudly.

"The Marquess did not spare any expense to his daughter's education. She is more brilliant than most of the men in the _ton_. Hell, in London. And gentlemen in particular do not want to marry a woman that is smarter than they are."

"But she said she couldn't read French," I said.

"Ah, but she can," he smiled softly. "She just could not read the words. Too small. Her eyesight has been failing her for years. She announced publicly several years ago that any man she married would need to read to her at _least_ two hours per day, otherwise she would never stop harping on him. Which is one of the reasons why no one has pursued her. They want less complications. A wife that won't require so much attention."

"What about you?" I countered quickly, eager to throw him off Lacey's trail.

"I need a woman who can hold my interest in the bedroom..._not_ in a conversation about flora and fauna of Scotland. Or," he shuddered, "the mating habits of beetles. She is very eccentric. I never said that I wanted someone eccentric."

I shrugged, returning my attention to our destination as the carriage began to stop. "I should warn you then," I said good naturedly before I stepped down. "Lacey is quite eccentric. _Loves_ talking about the mating habits of bugs. I think she eats them too."

The disgust on his face was evident, and I relished in a little satisfaction at my white lie.

It was short lived. When we arrived at the precinct, the magistrate was already in a tirade. Some idiot had allowed the Montausiers to post bail for their 'son'. He'd been gone for two hours.

And when I arrived back at Clandon House much later that afternoon, my anger turned to full scale panic. Lacey had gone home with Emma Wakefield, and had not even bothered taking Zachary or Rebbecca with her.

- -

"Do you think he would have gone after her?" Dom yelled over the thundering of horse hooves.

"I don't know," I shouted back, trying my best to determine where he was taking me. My instincts told me to race ahead of him, but since I had no idea where Lady Wakefield lived, I could do nothing but follow a stride away. As ridiculous as it sounded, this was twice I raced bareback through a city in order to save a woman.

Worried did not describe what I felt. Dread seeped through my veins, seeming to settle in the pit of my gut like dead weight. My first thought was that if anything happened to her, I was going to kill her rotten husband. The second, was that if Zachary did not kill me, then Erik would. Of course, I had half a mind to injure Zachary myself, for not accompanying her wherever she decided to go. And of all places, to the home of Blaise's former fiancé.

"It's not much farther," he tossed back, "the gray house with the hedgerow. Straight ahead."

We raced through the gates, kicking up pit gravel, made heavy by the rain. It was a sunny day, almost unbearably too hot to be running about like a couple of madmen, yet nothing mattered short of making sure Lacey and Lady Wakefield were alright.

A servant was sweeping the steps of the large manor, and gaped at us as we skidded to a halt in front of the doors, shooting a spray of dust and pebbles all across half of her freshly swept task.

"Lord Blackmore!" she yelped, curtsying quickly. "Is something wrong?"

"Where," he gasped, sliding from his mount, "is Lady Wakefield?"

"My...my lord?" she stammered, glancing at me, then back at him.

"Lady Wakefield and her companion! Where are they?"

"Down at the pond, I believe," she whispered, going white with fear. "They took Lady Wakefield's maid, my lord."

"Is there anyone else about?" I asked gently

"No," she said softly, uncertain how to address me. "They were quite alone."

I felt sorry for the poor dove, but there was little I could do about it now. I would not relax until I had seen _she_ was safe. Dom turned on his heel and began striding around the house, and I followed, glancing around warily for any signs of Soboul or his family. There was nothing, and nothing appeared to be amiss, but I grew more anxious as we nearly raced to a copse of trees across a small paddock filled with horses.

"She's at the_ pond_?" I asked dumbly, staring. Here was a pond, in the middle of London. Granted, the property was very large, but a pond? I was certain we did not have such things on Paris estates.

"Lady Wakefield is an avid fisher woman," he bit off, looking suitably furious. We had both gotten quite a scare during our mad dash about London. Me, more than him most likely, though I was certain a few pedestrians would have to disagree with both of us.

"Ah, I can see the water," I murmured, quickening my pace.

I had not been eager to face Lacey this morning after her confession last night, but I found that I wanted to see her _now_. I didn't quite know what to say to her, or how I could look her in the eyes without feeling like an utter bounder, but I did want to say _something._ Her confession deserved some response...I just wasn't sure what it would be...yet.

We entered the rather thick spread of trees, then came upon another hedgerow which seemed to encompass the entire pond. In fact, if we had not been on the worn path, we never would have came upon the opening. And there were only two, and they both possessed gates. It seemed she wanted to keep her fish under lock and key.

Or not.

It seemed fishing was not the only thing that Lady Wakefield did while at her private pond. It seemed she also liked to swim...entirely in the nude.

And if my eyes did not deceive me (and believe me, they weren't), then Lady Emma possessed one of the most delicious nude bodies I had ever seen (not that I had seen many). She stood with her back to us, bent over to one side (a perfect view, and I admit that I looked – I couldn't quite help myself), wringing a long wet rope of dark hair out. She must have done this often, because instead of being a pale, creamy white that affected most gently bred ladies, she was a beautiful, sun-kissed brown.

"Dear God," Dom breathed beside me. I turned to find his hazel eyes devouring every inch of her flesh. "_Who..._is _she_?"

Just then the maid caught sight of us, and immediately began to screech.

"Fiends! Fiends! Take cover, my lady! There are _men _in the forest! Get away! Get away, you _perverted_ men!"

A short, bobbing maid came forward, wielding a rather small stick to fend off two grown men. Lady Wakefield, her eyes wide with surprise as she darted a look over her shoulder, jumped into the lake with quite a few shrieks of her own, but not before revealing a fetching face, and two other equally interesting features.

And somewhere above all the ruckus, I could hear the distinct sound of Lacey. She was_ laughing._


	49. A Strangled Phantom

Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera

**Lacey**

The expressions on their faces was priceless. Equally priceless, was the utter surprise on Emma's face. When she had suggested this outing, I had not protested. But I had staunchly refused to undress myself under the warm sun, knowing if I did I would turn into a lobster, with only days before Esme's ball. That, and I was not quite as immodest as Emma about nudity.

I had, in fact, feared this happening, and had been watching a duck nibble on a bit of bread I tossed into the water. Naturally when Emma began to shriek and dove into the water, the duck protested and flew across the hedge, out of harm's way from the insane human populous that had invaded his home. Dom stared at Emma, who was now submerged up to her ears, and Raoul stared at Dom, and tried hard not to laugh.

Me?

I laughed my stockings off.

"It is not funny!" Emma screeched, spluttering water. I pictured her beneath the surface, in a vain effort to cover up parts of herself that she had rather not reveal, even though the pond did the job just fine. "Dominick Blackmore, get off my property! And take...take that _Frenchie _with you!"

"_Em?"_ Dom exclaimed, looking positively dumbstruck. There was no other word to describe his reaction. He stared at her in the water, even going so far as to take a step forward and was promptly poked by the maid, Daisey.

"Get out of here, you little bugger! Out!" Daisey hollered, then she poked Raoul as well. "Off! You heard her! Get off her property!"

"Emma?" he repeated, craning his neck for one last look. The woman rapped him on the shoulder with the stick, and he finally realized that he was being abused by someone not quite five foot tall. "Alright! I'm leaving!"

Raoul covered his mouth with his hand, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. "My apologies, Lady Wakefield," he called, then finally looked over to me. "Diana...please meet me at the edge of the trees. There is something urgent we need to discuss."

My heart squeezed, and I nodded slightly. He didn't look back at Emma, who was glaring at both men as they left her sanctuary. I averted my eyes when she scrambled out of the water, slapping on clothes without the assistance of her maid, and looking suitably angry.

"Why weren't you watching, Daisey?" she demanded, breathing heavily as she struggled into her shoes, then fumbling around for her glasses. In my opinion, she didn't need them anymore. She appeared to see worse with them than without them, not that either option appeared to suit her.

"I'm sorry, Miss," Daisey murmured, shamefaced. "It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't!" she barked, yelling loud enough for the men to hear even if they were at the house. "Because I'm going to _kill_ them!"

I raced around the edge of the pond and followed her tangerine and purple clad figure as it marched through the trees. I imagined that Napoleon himself would have feared her war colors coming at him, and the two men standing in the sunshine near a grazing colt most likely did as well.

"You!" she bellowed, poking Dom in the chest, "and you!" she continued, poking Raoul, who finally managed to stop smiling. "Will not repeat a word of what you have seen here today! Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Absolutely."

"And you will forget it ever happened!" she continued, eyeing them both sharply.

Raoul immediately responded in the affirmative, backing towards me as she rounded on Dom, who had not yet replied.

"Dom!"

"What?" he blinked, and I realized he had been scrutinizing her rather thoroughly.

"Will you forget what you witnessed here today?" she demanded.

"Not bloody likely," he muttered, staring down at her.

I thought she would slap him. Honestly, she probably should have. Instead she blushed, and stared at him rather silently for a moment. "Then you must have liked what you witnessed," she concluded suddenly.

"What?"

"Is there an echo?" she asked, spinning around to look at me. "I swear, someone keeps saying the same thing. Over and over again. It's actually quite annoying."

"Emma," he murmured, low and husky, a glazed expression in his eyes.

"Oh please!" she snorted softly, "Don't make calf eyes at me, Lord Blackmore. Just because you've seen me naked does not mean I will fall across your staff."

"I think we should leave," Raoul whispered in my ear.

"Are you kidding?" I whispered back, "This is better than an opera. Better than a play!"

"Yes but – "

"My staff? My _staff_?" Dom repeated, earning the title of aforementioned echoer. "Lady Wakefield, I assure you, you have never been in danger of _falling_ across my staff."

"Oh?" she replied sweetly. "Well, I suppose that makes sense. I had always heard it was rather small."

"Dear God," I breathed, leaning forward to snatch Emma's arm. I yanked her back to me, then hissed in her ear, "You should not have said that to a _man_! Are you mad?"

"That is the consensus," she answered cheekily.

And Dom, certainly not one to display a characteristically male display of predictable boorishness, laughed. Threw his head back and laughed at the sun. Clearly he was not in the slightest concerned about the reputation of his aforementioned...unmentionables.

Raoul grasped our respective arms and wrenched them apart. "Lady Wakefield, we certainly had no idea that you were...swimming," he said calmly. "Please allow me to escort you back to your home, where you may compose yourself."

"I am perfectly composed," she informed him, bearing her nose in the air. I did not dispute that fact, despite the way wet tangerine colored silk clung to a hastily dried body. And she wore absolutely no corset, nor even a chemise, which would not have done anything to hide the fact that she was rather...chilled. "But you may escort me home."

"Here," Raoul offered gallantly, striping his jacket off. "Please wear this, my lady."

"I'm fine," she insisted, then happened to glance down. "Er...on second thought..."

He draped it over her shoulders without another word, then offered us each an arm. Dom, for the most part, was silent on the way back to the estate, though I glanced back often to find his eyes on Emma's bottom.

So much for him courting me, I thought with a little sarcasm, but no anger.

When I had opened my eyes this morning, I had felt different. Waking in a bed, was almost...wonderful. After my initial confusion, I had remembered the night and sighed, curling back up in my blankets and holding his pillow to my face. I found that I could not regret telling him that I loved him. Of course if I told him how much, it would likely send him into panic. And I couldn't blame him for not responding, though I had been suspecting he knew my feelings for a long time.

Raoul assisted us to the house, and I thanked Emma for a pleasant day although it was obvious she was eager to get inside and change. Dom cursed loudly as he spied two roaming horses near the paddock where a stallion was protesting inside, and raced after them. I noticed neither horse was saddled, and in fact looked to be wearing some sort of harness.

"Goodness, did you ride here on carriage horses?" I asked, then looked at him closely. He was sweating quite a bit, and with Emma taking his jacket I could see that he was sweating everywhere.

"Yes," he replied, looking uncertain for a moment. "Lacey, Thomas posted bail for Blaise early this morning. I'm very sorry. If I had known, I never would have turned him over."

My day deflated for a moment, until he pulled me into his arms and embraced me rather hard.

"He won't get anywhere near you, Lacey," Raoul whispered fiercely. "I promise. And the magistrate is looking for him. Once he finds him, you can make damned certain he will not get released again."

"Is that why you're all sweaty?" I murmured, not missing the opportunity to put my hands across his broad back, and give him a heated caress.

"Yes," he said grimly, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was so filthy. I'm getting your dress dirty."

"I don't mind."

Raoul chuckled slightly, then gave a heavy sigh. "How did you sleep last night?"

I tilted my face up to smile at him. "Like a princess. With no peas."

"Peas?" he asked, frowning.

I rolled my eyes, "Never mind. It was my favorite fairy tale as a girl."

"You always bring up the most interesting points, Lacey."

"Who would listen, if they weren't interesting?" I countered with a little smirk.

I heard Dom approaching with the horses, and stepped away from him, missing his heated body already. Raoul's eyes flickered over my face, with almost a half smile to his lips as if he were thinking some thought he would never reveal to me. My heart beat quickened, and I wondered if perhaps he had changed his mind. He certainly wasn't protesting anymore. In fact, he looked far less strained than before. The tiredness in his eyes was gone, and the tight lines of frustration were absent.

"I'll be staying here with Lady Wakefield," Dom said cheerfully. "Make sure she's safe, and all that."

I snickered, earning a raised eyebrow from each man. "You do that, Lord Blackmore. But who, I wonder, is going to keep you safe?"

He grinned, then winked at me. "I am sure I will live to see my thirtieth birthday, Diana. Don't worry about my welfare. And," he continued, sidling up to me, "if I should need it, would you tend to my battle wounds?"

"I don't think Emma fights to maim," I said sweetly, patting his arm, "I think she goes for that vein in your neck at any time it is exposed. But good luck."

Raoul laughed, then called for a carriage to be brought around, and we left Dom still grinning in the driveway, flanked by two horses that were resistant to being held after earning their brief freedoms.

"Do you think he'll survive?" I asked, staring across at Raoul.

"I think he might, as long as he remembers Lady Wakefield is not a dim witted debutante. And that she is probably mortified beyond belief, and in no mood for being toyed with."

"You looked as well," I said coyly. "What did you think of Lady Wakefield's attributes?"

I could see his ears turning red, despite the shadowed interior of the carriage. As if he actually thought Dominick would be the only one tortured about this! His eyes had taken in just as much, and I had felt not just a little jealousy that Emma was far more fit than I would ever hope to be.

"I...ah...well..."

"What's wrong, Raoul? Did you lose your tongue?"

"No-o-o...," he stalled, shifting in his seat. "I happen to like my women a little more...curvy."

"Oh," I whispered, though I wasn't even sure it was audible. He could have said nothing better to please me, although it was my turn to become embarrassed. But did he mean me? Or Jacqueline?

I kept silent the rest of the way to Clandon House, eager to tell Rebbecca the sordid tale of my afternoon. Though it would have been far more interesting if I had been the one making men speechless with my naked body.

Raoul helped me from the carriage, smiling slightly at me as we went up the stairs together then into the coolness of the entryway.

"Is that them?" I heard a voice ask from the parlor, then Esme's head came around the door frame. "Oh, good! It is you! We were getting worried, my dear! Is everything alright?"

"It's fine," Raoul said reassuringly.

"Where is Dominick?"

"He is staying with Lady Wakefield," he replied pleasantly. "To ensure her safety."

Raoul prodded me in the back when I giggled, then shot me a look to silence me.

"Oh, that's good," Esme said, smiling. "Well, come in, dears. There are visitors here for you. Quite a few of them actually."

"Visitors?" I repeated, glancing up at Raoul.

He shrugged, then pushed me forward towards the door. Once I caught sight of him, I nearly fainted. It was a shock...such a shock to see him, that I could do nothing more than stare. He had come! I could not believe that he had actually come all this way!

"Erik!" I yelled, running across the room before he could rise from his chair. He was powerless to my assault, and I hugged him around the neck so hard I thought I heard him choke.


	50. A Woman of Honor

_Emma – Dominick _

_One shot, though I will do one more. _

"He's still here, my lady," Daisey said nervously. "Lord Blackmore is in your sitting room with his boots propped on your writing desk."

"He's _what_?" Emma exclaimed, hastily tying on a bonnet. Her hair was not going to be dry in time for her to run downstairs and throw him out, so she didn't bother pinning it. "Where are the footmen?"

"It's Sunday, my lady. They're in church," she informed her a bit reproachfully.

"Hah! We'll they're going to be toast if they don't get over to work protecting my virtue!"

"V-virtue?" Daisey muttered beneath her breath.

Emma cocked a brow at her. "Did you say something, Daisey?"

"No ma'am."

"I thought not," Emma said, yanking her strings down beneath her chin. "Oh, I hate bonnets. This one is pretty, though."

Daisey glanced up at the peach colored ensemble that really, really was _not_ pretty, and was at least twenty years out of style. "Of course it is, my lady."

Emma didn't spare another glance at herself as she thundered down the stairs to her sitting room and threw the doors open.

"Dominick Blackmore, I want you out of this house!"

Caught off guard with the chair balanced expertly on two legs, he crashed backwards into a potted plant with a large yell. "Christ, woman! Use a little decorum next time!"

"This is my house!" she announced, striding forward until she was standing over him.

"You're father's house," he corrected, grinning up at her.

She kicked his shin with a very pointed shoe. "Get up! And get out!"

"Now Em," he cajoled, rising slowly to his feet. "We've known each other for years. I am here to ensure that you come to no harm."

"I'll bet!"

Dom grinned, then reached out and plucked her glasses from her nose. "Much better," he said softly. "Why do you wear these atrocious things? You have lovely eyes. I never knew that they were green. The color of Greek olives, shining in the sunlight."

"Oh...I..." Emma blushed down to her toes. This close, without her glasses she could see him clearly. Every time they danced, he was a blur. Not just him...any man. But without her glasses she could not see at far distances. It seemed easier to wear them rather than take them on and off all the time. Of course, she didn't say anything. With Dominick Blackmore standing so close she could feel his heat, she couldn't quite speak. "Thank you, Dom. That's a very nice compliment."

"And you have other lovely things, Emma. Things that I did not know you had."

She felt her face flush more, and lowered her eyes to his chin. "You are supposed to forget about that."

"But I can't," he said softly, lifting a hand to trace down her cheek.

And he couldn't. Something had happened out there today. Something odd...he felt as if he had been struck. A woman like this beneath his nose, and he'd never even noticed her. He liked Emma. Of course he did. She was impossible not to like.

Slowly he untied the two strings of a very ugly bonnet, then slid it from her wet hair. Not pinned, it tumbled down in a dark, heavy mass, curling slightly around her face.

"Don't toy with me, Dom," she said quietly. "I'm not one of your floozies."

"No," he agreed, his eyes on her mouth. "You aren't a floozy."

"I'm not yours either," Emma added.

"Not yet."

Dom slid a hand around her waist, studying her face as if she were a work of art. He'd never even considered kissing her before. Not once, though it would have been an effective maneuver to shut her up on occasion. He certainly wouldn't have kissed her as he intended to do now, but once he had realized who that woman had been at the pond, he just_ knew. _That he had to know.

"I'm going to kiss you, Emma," he informed her, his voice deep and like a silk caress. "Do you have any objections?"

Her mouth opened, but she didn't make a sound. Dom took that as a yes, and proceeded with his kiss. Softly caressing her mouth with his, she stiffened at first, then seemed to melt under his masterful tongue. She felt a bolt of something shoot through her, and suddenly her hands were in his hair and she was pulling him closer.

"Dom," she whispered against his mouth. He kissed her harder, silencing her. His name had been whispered by many women, but none had affected him like sweet Emma. Bright, beautiful Emma, with her big green eyes and abominable clothing. He wound his hand through her wet locks, tilting her head back and plunged his tongue inside.

His other hand pressed against her back until she was fully against him. She gave all...and he wondered if she was still a virgin. Likely not, since she was twenty eight, and she was very curious about everything.

"Did your fiancé kiss you like this?" he demanded, breaking apart long enough to look in her eyes. "Emma? Did he?"

"No," she said blankly. "He never kissed me at all."

Dom smiled, inexplicably pleased. "Good."

He lowered his head again and kissed her, teasing this time. Beyond the need for merely tasting her now, he began to seduce her with his mouth, making her squirm closer and moan softly. She ran her hands down his back and explored him, so he reciprocated, brushing his long thumb across her nipple.

"Dominick!" she gasped, her mouth falling open. "That was _not_ a kiss!"

He smiled.

"Very well," he murmured, then lowered his mouth to cover the tight peak, nibbling softly through her dress. No, she certainly couldn't have been a virgin. Not the way she reacted, arching against him and demanding more. His lips slid to the other breast, teasing her through the yellow fabric.

"Oh...oh...Dom. That...that feels extraordinary! Does everyone else know about this?"

Dom lifted his head and stared at her, "Eh?"

"Do other women know about this?" she asked again, pleasure radiant on her face. "Do all your women feel this way?"

"Well, I hope so," he said, kissing her neck slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I've...I've never been kissed before. I certainly didn't know it involved this much freedom! If I had, you can bet I would have kissed someone by now!"

He stopped, pulling back sharply. "You've never been kissed before?"

"Well no," she said, rather sharply. "I am a woman of virtue...or I was. Is this sinning?" she asked in a low voice.

"Probably."

"Diana says that fornication is fine, as long as the man and woman love one another," she said idly, then flashed a look at him when he choked. "But I know you, Dom. You don't love any women. And though this was nice, I still won't be falling across your staff."

"I'm hurt, my lady," he grinned, giving her another swift kiss. "I had rather hoped that with your clumsiness, that one day it might occur."

"You just want to lie with me because you seen me naked," she pointed out.

"No. I want to lie with you because I want to see you naked. Again."

"Are you intending to marry me? Because that's the only way it will happen," she replied harshly, "and we both know how much of a mistake _that_ would be."

"Why a mistake?" he asked slowly.

"You are a rake. And I...well...I am _me_."

"I like you, Em. I've always liked you."

"I just ended one betrothal. I'll not be making a fool of myself twice this year," she said frostily. "Now let me go. You really need to leave now."

Dom studied her for a moment, but let her go. No way was he letting this go for good. Letting her go. The moment he had seen her, with her back to him by the pond...he had known. She was going to be his. He wanted her, in every way. Finding out she was none other than Emma was a devil of a bonus. Not to mention his mother would be delighted. He had always felt that he would fall in love one day. He had just expected it to be with his wife. That they would slip into a comfortable marriage, and he would wake up one day and realize that he loved her. Now...he was certain it had happened before the marriage.

"Will you save a dance for me at my mother's ball?" he asked softly.

"Oh...I'm not sure if I should go," she replied, looking uncomfortable suddenly. She had finally realized she had spent the last twenty minutes with her tongue in his mouth, and this was Dominick Blackmore! Not the biggest rake in London, but certainly one of society's favorites. And always a favorite with the ladies. "Please give her my apologies."

"Nonsense. You're going," he said firmly, then took her hands. "Promise me that you will come, Emma. It will be worth it. I want you to be there."

"Why?" she whispered, feeling confused. Dom had never expressed interest in her. And he had his pick of women. Why her? Why now? Just because he had seen her naked? He'd surely seen hundreds of naked women.

"Promise me," he repeated tenderly. "I won't hurt you, Emma. Please, just trust me."

"I...I'll be there," she said softly, studying the determined gleam in his eyes.

"I'm sending two of my father's footmen over here. Blaise posted bail this morning, and I want you to be safe. You should consider coming back to Clandon House with me where you will be safe."

"No," she said firmly. "My father is here, and he needs me."

Dom hesitated a moment then asked, "How is Lord Halifax?"

"Not good," she said softly, a haunted look coming into her eyes. "I...I don't think he has much longer."

"I'm sorry, Emma. I really am. May I...may I visit him?"

She bristled immediately. "Why? So you can tell those fools down at White's where to place their bets?" she demanded. "No! He is not a...not a damned bet! He's my f-father!"

"Oh, Emma. I would never do that," he said, feeling like a cad. He had never considered how much her father's illness affected her. He wasn't certain what he would do when his father died, and he hoped that day was long, long away. Being an heir was not easy. He knew one day he would be an Earl...but it also meant his mother would become a widow, and his father would be gone. He dreaded his inheritance. "Never. I'm sorry...I had no idea you knew about that bet. My father and a few of his friends tried to put a stop to it. I tried. But it did no good. Who told you?"

She sniffled, then brushed away tears. "There were some young gentlemen in Hyde park, trying to pump me with information last week. I knew that my father didn't know them, and they certainly had no business asking about his welfare. They told me, and laughed about it. About me marrying at all."

Dom felt anger thunder through him, and he demanded their names.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I'm not getting married. I'm going to die an old spinster...now they can bet on how many cats I will acquire as an old woman," she said bitterly.

"It matters," he responded gently, tilting her chin up with one hand. "You know that all you have to do is say the word, and any man in this city will fight for your honor. You are a special lady, Emma. I will make you see that. It is my promise to you."

He kissed her again, then drew her in his arms, and Emma Wakefield – the spinster who lived alone with her father and a houseful of servants – finally did not feel quite so alone.


	51. Keeping Things In Mind

**Raoul**

The way Lacey grabbed him, I knew he feared the mask had been jarred. His hand shot to it immediately, while his other shot around her back and hugged her just as fiercely. I could see that Esme and Robert were equally surprised, while Eva merely looked amused.

"Alright...that's good," he said gruffly, grabbing her by the shoulders and setting her away from him. His eyes flickered over her face, as if to assure himself that she was alright. "I heard about what happened this morning. I was worried about you."

"I'm fine," she sang, "especially now that you're here. What made you decide to come?"

"Are you kidding?" Eva scoffed. "We left a mere two days after you did. Erik couldn't stand the thought of you coming to any harm."

"As if I couldn't protect her myself," I grumbled. At my tone, the shrieking began.

_"Papa!"_

_"Papa Raoul!"_

I was immediately bombarded by two little figures, Charlotte and James. Charlotte latched onto my waist while James tugged at my trousers until I knelt down and scooped them both up. I squeezed tight and carried them over to a chair where Charlotte immediately launched into a rather long winded version of their trip and James discovered the joys of nose picking.

Lacey, I noticed, was in deep conversation with Erik while Eva held Stephan with one arm around Amber. Robert and Esme looked on as if we were all one big, mad family. Which we were, in one way or another.

"Charlotte, why don't you take Amber and the James's nurse to see Zachary and Rebbecca? I'm sure they're around here somewhere."

"The gardens," Esme clarified with a smile, "they were in the rose gardens."

"Ah, then the rose gardens it is," I said, hefting her down to the floor. I kissed her cheek, then growled against James's neck to make him laugh as he started to cry. "I will come see you later, Princess."

She raced over to hug Lacey, then Amber hugged us both before they left. James clung to me so tightly I knew there was no sending him, so I placed a hand against his head and pressed it to my shoulder.

"Erik, Charlotte informed me your trip was less than pleasant," I said slowly.

They both turned, in the middle of what looked like a less than amicable conversation. "No," he said emphatically. "It wasn't."

"Dear me," Esme said, looking worried. "Did your baby have complications?"

Erik looked quite shocked that she had addressed him, and in French. "No, Madame Blackmore. It was the rest of my brood that had complications. Charlotte, in particular, is not a good traveler. And you," he looked at me directly, "could have informed me of that."

"Eva knew," I said with a shrug. "Besides, I didn't know you were coming."

Erik turned to look at his wife, who also shrugged. "And I didn't want you to change your mind."

The look on his face told us all that he was less than pleased, but he glanced over at Lacey and I knew he thought it was worth it.

"You're okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm perfectly fine," she said, sounding exasperated. "And really, there was no need to worry at all. Raoul was here. And the Blackmore's have been wonderful. You should meet Lady Wakefield, she is very interesting herself. Isn't that right, Raoul?"

I coughed on a bit of tea that Esme had poured for me, not that I minded. I hated tea. "Ah...yes. She's _interesting_."

I could have gladly throttled Lacey for the cheeky grin that she gave me. Instead I found myself smiling as well, caught in a rather naughty secret with her.

"I hate to disturb your reunion," Robert said, looking a little peeved. "But perhaps you all might tell me how you are acquainted."

"Oh, I..."

Lacey looked at me, then at Erik, then back to Robert. "Erik and Eva saved my life," she said simply. "And offered me refuge in their home, as a chaperon to their daughters."

"It seems to be a bit more complicated than that to me," Robert said quietly, glancing at all of us. "But perhaps it is better not to ask questions. Raoul, you haven't been entirely honest, have you?"

"No, Sir," I said without hesitating. "But my loyalty lies with Lacey...you know her as Diana. For the last three years she has lived with Erik, and I had no clue that she was Charles's daughter. She wanted a divorce from her husband, and I promised her I would find a way. It seemed only natural to come to you, Robert. If you would like us to leave, just say the word."

"It isn't necessary," he replied quickly, and I perceived his wife to be glaring at him. "Please, stay through the ball as planned."

"Ball?" Erik repeated, staring at me. "Is that wise with Soboul running free? He could expose her. Or worse."

"He won't get through the door. And I have every intention of having him tracked down before Friday night."

"What if you can't?" Eva asked, bouncing Stephan to try and shush him. "I don't like the idea of him out there, able to hurt her again."

"He can't," Lacey said softly, "Raoul won't let him."

Our eyes met, and I absolutely knew that I wasn't going to come away from this with my heart in tact. Not when she looked at me with such trust, and such love shining in her blue eyes. And with such a husky, sweet tone to her voice. We must have stared a moment too long, because Erik stood abruptly, causing everyone to look at him.

"Alright de Chagny. I think perhaps we might need to have a private conversation. Right now."

- -

"You gave me your word," he began with, his hands behind his back, "that you would not honor her."

"And I kept it. Though I..."

"Though you what?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing.

"Believe it or not, there are certain parts of Lacey's life that she does not have to answer for."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she's a grown woman."

His jaw tightened, and he looked close to murder. I'd seen that look in his eyes before. Usually every time we had to speak directly for any reason, though there were times more than others that I believed him. This – was one of those times.

"Are you going to marry her?" he demanded, practically spitting the words.

My annoyance with him was also capable of increasing, and I glared back at him. "I don't see how it's your business."

"Let me rephrase the question," Erik said, his voice lowering. "Is there any reason why you would _have_ to marry?"

"No."

"Excellent."

"But I am considering it," I admitted, my mouth opening before I fully considered the words. I had not actually thought this through. I wanted more time to think. Needed to think about it more...I wanted to spend more time with her. And with James, who she had gladly taken from my arms before Erik ordered everyone from the room. I had to make sure that it was right...that there were no mistakes. That she would love him just as she loved me. And Charlotte, though their bond would always be more sisterly than anything.

Erik's eyes widened, and I could tell I had shocked him speechless.

"Don't mention it to anyone yet," I added gruffly. "I haven't decided."

"Do you...do you love her?"

"I have no idea what that means. I care for her. I...I don't want to discuss this with you," I finally said. "It's beyond strange."

Beyond strange did not describe it. Because I knew...I _knew _that I needed his approval before so much as touching her again. And oddly enough I felt that I had always had it. The hell of it was that Erik had forgiven me _completely_, and there were still some ways I had not forgiven him. Not for the past...for the present. He had moved on. Christine did not haunt him anymore, and he had found love, happiness, and continued his legacy through his children. I was still in the past, trying to breathe through guilt and anger.

"Don't hurt her," Erik said quietly.

"I've already hurt her. But I will try not to do it again."

"Fair enough. Now...suppose you give me your version of what happened last night."

"Eh...you are referring to Soboul?" I asked rather quickly, though he could not have possibly known I spent the night with her. Though with Erik, anything was possible.

He smirked slightly. "Of course. Did Zachary beat the snot out of him?"

"No, I did. Zachary just sent him into a land of pleasant dreams, although I bet he is missing some teeth this morning."

"That's good enough for me, though I will not rest until Lacey is safely back in Paris," he muttered, not really looking pleased at all. "I've rented a townhouse a couple of streets over. If the Blackmore's have disinvited you as their houseguest, you may join us. There is enough room for you and Lacey."

"Shouldn't she stay here?" I asked, knowing I wasn't going to leave, and knowing I didn't want _her_ to leave. "I don't want to make anyone suspicious. They still believe she is my betrothed."

"You want to spend more time with her," he declared, then nodded before I responded. "Very well. Just remember what I said. Touch her, and she's yours."

"I'll keep that in mind," I murmured as he stalked out of the room. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

- -

A short chapter, just to keep you interested. I'm on my lunch break, but I had to go to a public library (gag) to type this. Cheers.


	52. Joining Forces

Attn: I am trying to finish this story so that I can start my other ones, so I will be moving quickly time wise and not going into as much detail on all conversations btw. Raoul & Lacey. We all know where this is headed...

Also, I have an EC in the works, for all you Christine fans. There is a blurb on my profile, and a** tentative** ch1 is uploaded.

**Lacey**

_The next morning..._

Raoul's eyes settled on me immediately as he cut across the lawn, and like before, it seemed there was no one else around. I hadn't seen him since dinner the night before...he had gone out with Zachary looking for Blaise with no obvious results, though I had not heard it from his mouth yet that he was still missing. He was holding James, and the boy started kicking and squealing when he caught sight of me. "Do you know this little hoyden?" he asked with his brows raised. "He seems to want to see you a great deal."

"Then put him down. I know what he wants," I said sheepishly.

James staggered forward, hands grasping the air in demand before the words reached his mouth. "Chokit! Chokit! 'Ace!"

"Say please," I responded sternly, knowing I could never resist those blue eyes, so much like his father's.

"Peas!" he exclaimed, bouncing up and down on his knees.

Unfolding a piece of waxed paper from the ground beside me, I broke off a portion and popped it into his mouth. I heard Raoul chuckle, and glanced up to find him smiling widely.

"I can't say that I approve of you passing your addictions off to my son."

"Everyone needs something to love," I murmured, though I looked back to James who was waiting rather patiently for a three year old. "And James understands the allure of chocolate. Don't you, James?"

"Peas!"

Raoul sat down beside his son, and I gave James a piece, then offered the last one to Raoul. "Far be it from me to spoil him," I said teasingly. He stared at it for a moment then took it from me, laying it flat against his tongue then closing his mouth. My face felt warm suddenly as we drifted into a silence where we both looked at one another but said or did nothing, and I became rather jealous of that piece of chocolate.

"Peas!"

James interrupted us, and I raised my hands in supplication. "I'm sorry, James. It's all gone. Papa ate it."

The disgruntled look he sent his father inspired only a chuckle, and no pity, and soon he was investigating some sort of wildflower that had dared to sprout it's blossom too close to his curious hands. I doubted it was more interesting than chocolate, though it was a pretty flower.

"Did you sleep well last night?" Raoul asked softly.

I hesitated a moment and studied him. Why was he curious? I had imagined after my bold confession that I would see no more of him, and after Erik arrived I was almost certain he would pass me off to him. Yet he had not, and oddly enough, he seemed to want to talk to me. To have a real conversation...an intimate conversation.

"Not as well as the night before," I confessed. "And you?"

His mouth curved up at one corner, revealing a dimple that had to be set just right to be displayed. "Like a log. I can't admit to getting any sleep the night before. I had other things on my mind more important than sleep."

"Oh," I whispered, feeling my heart flip inside. Did he mean...

"Do you like daffodils?" he asked suddenly, plucking a wildflower and lifting the bud to twirl it against my nose. He laughed softly when I sneezed, then moved it to my cheek, a teasing look in his eyes that offset the hunger hiding there as well.

"Daffodils?"

"Mmm, yes. Daffodils," he repeated.

My breath caught as the flower edged down my jaw to my neck. It was lighter than any touch he had ever given me, but he did it in such a way that I felt incredibly weak, despite the way my heart raced. "I-I'm sure they're a lovely flower," I stammered, my eyes closing as his fingers replaced the flower very briefly, "but I don't quite know what they look like."

"You don't know what a daffodil looks like?"

"N-no. I can't recall." Not with him doing this to me. Out in the open, where anyone could see. My lashes fluttered open to find his blue eyes alight with some inner secret. He tucked the flower behind my ear and caressed the edge of my lobe. I wondered if he had any idea what he was doing to me. Surely Raoul wouldn't hurt me. He wouldn't play games with my feelings, since he knew how I felt.

"Will you take a ride with me tomorrow in Hyde Park, Lacey?" he asked softly.

"A ride?" I repeated dumbly. And I thought I'd been about to be kissed. As if he knew my thoughts, he stared down at my lips for several moments, his intentions belying his own thoughts. He didn't kiss me. But he wanted to. _I_ wanted him to. But he didn't kiss me.

"And maybe a race," he added, his eyes issuing a challenge. "I want to see if I can be a victor in a race with you, just as Lord Blackmore."

"Lord Blackmore cheated," I huffed. "He gave me the pokiest horse in his stable."

"So you want a horse built for speed? Or just not a docile pony?" Raoul questioned, appraising me with his eyes for a moment. "Are you really that good of a rider?"

"I was," I replied, a bit sullenly. "Erik doesn't keep anything other than carriage horses, and there isn't anywhere to ride on his estate. His forest is one confusing and slightly frightening maze, and the lawn itself...well...his gardener would probably shoot me if I so much as trampled a blade of grass."

His mouth opened for a moment, then he closed it. I wanted to know whatever it was he'd been about to blurt out, but instead he said, "You may visit my stables anytime you like, Lacey. And I promise - there are no pokey horses within."

"Will you go with me?" I asked, overcome with shyness for some reason. Asking him to spend time with me was hard. Especially since it had already been decided that we would never be anything. Had he changed his mind? It was too much to hope for, yet the way he looked at me made me want to lower my guard and let him back in. I had told him I loved him. Would he say it back? Would he mean it?

"If that's what you want, Lacey," he answered softly. He leaned over and pressed a light kiss to my cheek, then picked James up and rose. "I have to go. The magistrate is going to allow Zachary and I to go with him into the Montausier residence to apprehend Blaise if he is there. Stay close to the house. I don't want anything to happen to you."

"Alright," I whispered, glancing behind him where Dominick was standing, speaking with Emma. "Be careful. I...I don't want anything to happen to you either."

He smiled, as if he were confident that would never happen, then he left, leaving me more than a little confused by his actions. _Had_ he changed his mind? If he had, he could have at least told me. Or was the look in his eyes something else? Was he just happier because he had James with him now?

Or was it possible my confession had opened his heart - as well as other doors I'd never thought to open?

- -

"Lord Blackmore is a rake of the worst sort," Emma said, scowling. "Do you think he ever means half of what he says?"

I smiled inwardly, but fixed a polite expression on my face. "I think he is a very sincere, and very experienced rake. But I do believe he means what he says. He doesn't seem the sort to give false compliments just to gain a woman's favor. I don't think he has to offer any compliments - most women love him already."

"All women," she corrected, her mouth tightening even more. "Honestly! He kisses me, then the next day he's likely kissing someone else! Can you believe that?"

"Did he kiss someone else?" I asked, delighted that he had, in fact, kissed her.

"Undoubtedly, though he would never admit to it! And he asks me to trust him! How can I trust a man like that? Especially after what that bastard Frenchman did to me - no offense to you," she said, looking extremely peeved, "but I've sworn off foreign men for good. Not that I ever need to fend men off before."

"Lord Blackmore is half French," I reminded her with a smile.

Emma frowned, staring down into her cup of tea. I had been surprised when she asked if she could speak to me alone, and I had invited her back to my sitting room for some privacy. It was obvious she was distressed about her encounter with Dom, and I couldn't help but feel sorry for her. She was older than me, chronologically, but in many ways she was more innocent than I had ever been - though I didn't doubt she would be able to defend herself if she ever needed to. But I suspected that if Dom was playing with her, Emma was the one that would be burned.

"He's half English," she said at last. "Does one cancel out the other?"

I smiled at her wishful question, and tried to think of something to say that wouldn't harm Dom's chances with her, and still let Emma know that she had to be careful. I didn't really know either one of them, of course, but they seemed to know one another quite well, at least socially. "Emma, Lord Blackmore has stated he will be looking for a wife very soon."

"He has?" she practically shouted, looking very shocked. "But...but I watched him kiss Lady Sheffield not a month ago at the Lyceum!"

"He isn't married yet. He isn't engaged yet...and I imagine kissing women at theaters is something a notable rake would engage in," I said slowly, "but he did tell me that he would be a faithful husband."

"Why would he tell you something like that?" she asked, pouncing on my statement like a cat would a mouse. "He asked you first, didn't he?"

"Well...I...not so much, really," I stammered, watching Emma's face turn red with anger.

"Have you been laughing to yourself at my expense?" she demanded, standing up and towering over me like a fearsome Amazonian warrior woman. "Did you find it amusing that-"

"No! I'm not remotely interested in Dominick Blackmore!"

"Then why didn't you tell me he was interested in you?" Emma cried out, looking hurt and confused. My heart went out to her. As much as she was liked for her outlandish personality, she didn't believe a man would ever look at her the way she deserved to be. And she perceived Dom's intentions to be base, instead of romantic. She had every right to think that, given his reputation for womanizing. And every right not to trust him, because I didn't think I would trust him myself.

"Because he wasn't really interested in me," I said softly. "He wants a wife. I happened to be someone who didn't fall under his charms. I think it intrigued him. But I...I'm not even attracted to him-"

"Not attracted?" she echoed, eyeing me suspiciously. "Are you blind? Dom is one of the most handsome men in London!"

"I'm in love with someone else."

Emma blinked, then sat back down. "Oh. And I suppose he loves you, and you are going to be very happy together?" she snorted, then gave me a scathing glance. "I liked you because I thought you were in the same situation I'm in. But you're going for the fairytale, aren't you? I should have known. Pretty. Blonde. Ample bosom. What man could resist?"

"Emma, the love of my life hasn't exactly declared himself madly in love with me. In fact, he practically ran all the way to London, just so he could get away from me...even if he did it to help me, I know he wanted to put some distance between us. And I'm far from a man's idea of a perfect woman. If don't think you have desirable...attributes...you should have seen the faces on Raoul and Dom when they happened upon you at the pond."

She blushed and stared down at her tea cup, not hiding a smile. "Dom never noticed me before."

I winced inwardly as I took in her full plaid skirt and robin's egg blue and white striped shirtwaist. "Emma, I don't know how to say this...but your taste in clothing is positively disgusting."

"I know," she sighed, plucking at the hem of her dress.

"You do?"

"Of course I do!" she huffed. "Do you think I dress like this intentionally?"

"Well..."

"I use my mother's dressmaker, and she has to be eighty years old," she said weakly. "I know the poor old woman has problems with her eyes. I can certainly relate...but this random fashion show that she gives me has been the bane of my existence. I just don't have the heart to tell her no."

"Emma, if you don't tell her no, you're never going to be married unless you show every man what you look like naked. If you aren't careful wearing that ensemble, the Queen might think Scotland has declared war on England."

"What can I do?" she asked hopelessly. "I don't want to break the poor old woman's heart. She's the sweetest lady you'll ever meet."

I stood determinedly. "Come with me, dear. We have to find you something else to wear before I return home. And we will," I vowed, wondering where Zachary was at the moment, "if we have to search every shop in London."

- -

Sorry for the delays. I've been so tired, and my job is draining the life out of me. I'm working for a foreclosure company, kicking people out of their homes. Nice, right?

Anyone want to be my beta?


	53. A Claiming Race

**Raoul**

The trip with the magistrate was futile. Neither Blaise, nor Thomas, nor Carolina were anywhere to be found, and though he questioned a line of bewildered servants, none of them had any idea where the three might have gone. They had taken their clothing and a lady's maid. That appeared to be all that was missing from the house except for a few family heirlooms they had brought with them from France. Lacey's heirlooms, I realized.

I strolled through the house, and with the permission of the magistrate, I took a few items to give to Lacey. They were rightfully hers, and the man didn't seem all that partial to the Montausiers anyway. Not after they had bluffed their 'son' out of his jail by threatening a poor underpaid young clerk. I intended to speak with the Prefect of Paris when I returned to see about having her father's estate returned to her. I highly doubted the Montausiers would be stupid enough to come back. I also intended to visit Charles's solicitor. I was beginning to wonder about his will. Perhaps he hadn't abandoned his daughter the way she seemed to think. Perhaps there had been something underhanded going on that far back as well.

I would find out. And I would give her back as much of her life as I possibly could. Then I would give her the moon and stars if it were possible, and ask her to marry me. I had realized at some point that while my marriage had been disappointing – hers had been absolute Hell. Still, she had not lost faith that happiness and love existed. I loved that about her. I absolutely loved that about her. Being with her made me feel more alive than I had in years. When I was around her I was able to cast off the shroud of darkness that was making me bitter, and I never felt alone.

We didn't have to be kissing, or touching, or even getting along. When she spoke, I knew she was speaking to me. And when I said something, she listened. She loved me. Even if she hadn't felt romantic about me – if she only cared for me in the same manner she did Erik – I knew that I would find her exactly the same way. She was someone who was made to be loved, and who deserved to have the world laid at her feet. I was stunned by my willingness to try and do that for a woman again – but I wasn't afraid to do it for Lacey.

"We're done here," the magistrate said grimly, stepping through the library doors. "I'm posting men down at the docks, but I'm stretched pretty tight as it is. I can't guarantee anything, Vicomte. But I assure you if they ever step foot in London again, they won't get away."

I lifted one more item – a silver box that was inscribed with Lacey's mother's name – and tucked it into my jacket. "How much would it cost to have more men stationed at the docks?"

"I'm stretched pretty thin," he repeated, though his brow furrowed. "I guess I could spare five more from my reserve force."

"Pull them. I want that bastard caught and sent back to France," I said quietly. "I don't even care if he's breathing."

"Will do, Sir."

- -

I spent the rest of the day and half the night with ten Bow Street Runners, patrolling alongside the docks at Southwark. The only thing I discovered was that while they were good at their job, much of it was boring. I left in the wee hours of the morning, disgusted by the smell of fish guts and offers from dockside girls who called me a fairy-boy after turning them down. The butler at Clandon House raised nary a brow when I came in smelling of the docks and handed him my coat. And why should he? After all, he was used to the same and worse from Lord Blackmore.

I intended to go straight to my room and enjoy a long, hot bath before climbing into bed and catching a few hours sleep. That was, until I found Lacey sleeping in my bed with my pillow tucked down one side of her body.

I stared down at her, lying face up with thick blond hair trailing out to the side, and bathing became the last thing on my mind. I set the items I'd taken from the Montausiers on my bedside table, and began to shed clothing. More than last time, but still enough to be considered dressed. Or in other words, I stripped down to my trousers, then slowly climbed into bed with her.

"Lacey?"

"Raoul?" she whispered, blinking slowly, but never quite opening her eyes.

"What are you doing in here?" I asked, not really caring why. Finding her in here was like a pirate's treasure every man dreamed of finding.

"I wanted to tell you about my day," she said sleepily, rolling to her side. "I found Emma a beautiful dress. And she's going to have more made. _And_ she's going to throw those hideous spectacles away."

"That's...that's nice," I murmured, stretching closer to her. "But it doesn't explain why you had to come in here tonight. You could have told me about Emma in the morning."

She opened her eyes briefly and stared at me, her expression torn between tiredness and exhilaration at our proximity. I knew the feeling. I was exhausted – yet I did not want to sleep.

"I wanted to see you," Lacey finally responded, her eyelids growing heavy and eventually shutting.

I leaned over and kissed her hard on the mouth, and she was awake instantly. Eyes wide and head raised from the pillow, she gaped at me as if she thought she may have dreamed it.

"Did you just kiss me?"

"You must have been dreaming," I said solemnly, then kissed her again. "Perhaps it's really a nightmare. Would you like me to hold you?"  
"Oh, yes."

I smiled slowly, intrigued by the banter we always shared, and knew that making love to this woman might be many things, but it would never be boring. I kissed her again, sliding a hand through her hair and caressing her scalp. Lacey hesitated a moment before kissing me back, sighing loudly when I pulled her close and fit her body next to mine.

"Raoul..."

I pulled away, suddenly conscious of where I had her. In a bed. Was this wrong? It didn't feel wrong to me, but the last thing I wanted to do was frighten her, or remind her of memories best forgotten. "I don't want to hurt you, Lacey," I said gruffly, encircling her within my arms.

"Then don't stop this time," she whispered, searching my eyes.

"I smell like fish," I declared with a regretful grin.

"I know. I wasn't going to say anything if you weren't."

I couldn't help but laugh, and she wrinkled her nose when I tried to kiss her again, not willing to overlook my stench now that it was out in the open.

"You have to return to your own bed," I said ruefully. "I won't get a wink of sleep with you in here, and I could barely walk up the stairs I was so tired."

"Who says we have to sleep?"

I let out a long breath and rubbed my lips over hers, most of me wanting to take charge and fulfill both of our needs, and a very small – yet rational – part of me knowing that I shouldn't. For several moments I ignored that rational voice, and concentrated on Lacey. I knew that I could not keep tormenting us both with this explosive spark that lay between us, that barely had to be stoked to ignite. She was willing. So openly willing. And I deepened our kiss, knowing in my heart that I wanted her, and I would want her for the rest of my life.

"Ugh! Not only do you smell like fish – you taste like fish! What on earth have you been doing all night?"

"Turning down lonely dockside prostitutes and pretending to be an officer of the law," I replied dryly.

"Well it certainly shows," she whispered, pulling her head back even further. "I think I will retract all offers of spending the night in your bed, and return to my room."

"Pity," I said softly, "and I was willing to let you stay."

Lacey's eyes widened. "Do you mean it? You...you aren't teasing me, are you, Raoul"

"I mean it, Lacey. I would never tease you like that. Never."

She lifted a hand and caressed my cheek, discreetly rubbing away some bit of grime that she probably shouldn't have touched, given where I had been. I closed my eyes and let her touch me, let her explore my chin, my nose, the flat line of my eyebrow. Lacey's touch was divine, and I fell even harder when I opened my eyes to see the emotion in hers. She held my gaze a moment longer before returning to the purpose of my outing, though her fingertips brushed at the hair on my neck, then slid across my shoulder.

"Did you discover anything new about Blaise?" she asked, finally convincing me that we were not going to be enjoying more kisses than we had already shared for the evening. I knew I smelled. I could barely stand my own stench, and I was a man.

"No. But I do have some things for you. May I give them to you tomorrow? I think the sun will be up at any moment, and I'm sapped." I also wanted to see her face when I gave her the things she thought had been lost from her heritage. If I could, I would take her into the Montausier house and let her snoop to her little woman's heart content.

Lacey nodded slowly and shifted up in the bed, forcing me to stifle a groan as I realized she wasn't dressed in a modest gown, but a soft, white cotton nightdress. Such things were invented for the torture of honorable men.

"Are we still going for a ride tomorrow?" she whispered, her voice like a steady drum in the quietness of the room.

"If you promise to lose the race," I replied solemnly.

"Lose?" she repeated with a grin. "Not on your life!"

I closed my hand around her ribcage and pulled her close, fish smell and all. "But if you lose, then I get to stake a claim."

"A-a...claim? What sort of claim?"

"I shall tell you, sweet Lacey," I murmured, swooping down for another kiss, "when the time is right. And that's only if you lose the race."

- -

Thx to my beta! She even wrote two or three of the sentences in this little chapter!


	54. Crossing the Line

**_Special thanks to both of my betas for helping me with this chapter! You rock!_**

**Lacey**

"Not any of these," I said, pointing to the row of horses the grooms had brought out for me. "Take them all back! I will not ride another nag."

One of the mares on the end blew, as if to protest my detrimentally descriptive vocabulary. I tossed her a regretful look, but moved on to the next row of slightly taller horses.

"I thought you were going to lose the race," Raoul said, leaning close to my ear with a suggestive grin. "Remember?"

"Perhaps you will like my offer better," I replied over my shoulder, then ignored his sanguine laughter and returned my attention to the horses. "None of these. That one looks like he'd be better suited for a plow, and these three don't look remotely interested in being ridden. Don't you have anything _else_?" I asked, casting a furious look over to Raoul's own gray gelding. He'd arrived here five minutes before I had, and had gotten his pick of the stable, able to chose any but Dom's own horse - which had not carried his owner home last night.

"Well ma'am, there's Deceptive, but Lord Blackmore has said he isn't a lady's mount," one of the grooms said nervously.

"Then why did you say his name?" Another groom groaned, then slapped his friend in the back. "Lord Blackmore's going to hang us both."

"Bring me Deceptive," I demanded, intrigued already.

"Lacey, I think if Lord Blackmore says he isn't a lady's mount he isn't...," he trailed off when I glanced at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Do you presume to tell me what to do?"

"Never."

"If I judge myself capable of riding this horse, then I will. If I don't think I can ride him, then I won't. I'm not an idiot, Raoul."

"I couldn't agree more," he stated rather agreeably, though I wanted to wipe the smile from his face, especially when they brought out a prancing, sleek, bay stallion with a blaze face. One I'd seen running free in the paddock once or twice in the evenings, but who was apparently seldom ridden. Dom had pointed him out on our walk, saying he was rather temperamental and that they got along as well as two tom-cats tail-tied over a stripling branch.

"Is he sound?" I asked, running my hand along his neck and letting him smell me. Deceptive arched his neck and blew delicately, then gave his head a swift shake. Stroking his shoulder, I made my way down to his legs and checked each hoof myself, then went back to his head and gazed into his eyes.

He was excited and nervous, and likely was going to test my riding skills, but he wasn't cruel. Eye-rolling horses had always put me off, and there were some I could look at and tell that I would not enjoy riding. As a woman, I could decide that. If I were a man, likely I would grunt and guffaw, and declare that I could ride anything with four legs (or two legs, if I were a _crude_ man).

"Does he have any bad habits?" I continued, realizing that both grooms were holding their breath, and had not even answered my first question. "Are you _listening_ to me?"

"You'd best answer her," Raoul called out with laughter. "You really don't want to make _her_ angry if you think that horse is bad."

"Yes, ma'am. He's perfectly sound," one of them finally said, then glanced at the other one. "And he doesn't have any bad habits, 'cept he likes to take a plug out of Lord Blackmore when he's close by."

I smiled, then looked back to Deceptive who was actually beginning to look rather sleepy. "Just Lord Blackmore?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll take him," I announced, then pressed my nose against his neck, inhaling his sweet horsey odor before he was led away to be saddled. He smelled _much_ better than fish.

"Are you sure about him?" Raoul asked, though I detected he was trying not to push me.

"If he misbehaves we won't race, and I will forfeit," I said reassuringly. "But my money's on Deceptive."

Raoul stepped close and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "Trust me, Lacey. Money figured nowhere in my bets."

"Nor in mine," I answered, discreetly poking a finger into his stomach side, then pinching him. "But I still think you will like it if I win. You will, of course, have to trust _me_."

"Not on your life," he replied, his voice low. "I still haven't figured out whether or not you would have cut Marisa's hair if you'd been given a chance and a pair of scissors."

"Of course I would have cut it. She all but called me a cow!"

He hesitated a moment before he decided that I wasn't mad, but I still wasn't teasing. "Would you have cut mine?"

"Call me a cow," I dared softly.

"I have an entirely other name in mind. And it does not have anything to do with farm animals."

Raoul grinned down at me when I planted my hands on my hips and demanded to know what he would call me. He was saved from answering when the groom brought out a clearly excited Deceptive and assisted me to mount. Raoul swung up in his saddle, and with a wary glance down at the massive horse beneath me, we started off.

We had not made it a block before he began to voice his concerns about my choice. "Are you sure you should be riding him?"

"He's as docile as a lamb," I said, giving the prancing horse a reassuring pat.

"_Sidesaddle_, Lacey? Are you absolutely certain you can handle him?"

Deceptive was blowing beneath me, but wasn't throwing his head, nor was he straining at the bit. I had only ridden him a block, of course, but I didn't think I would have much trouble out of him. Besides, I still had the option of forfeiting the race. And I was possibly as intrigued by Raoul's offer as he was mine.

"I won't be reckless with him. I would never do that – to him – or to myself. I've seen horses put down before. It's barbaric."

"But it's crueler when they suffer," he put in, as I had heard my father do many times before. "The race ... "

"Would you forget about the race!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up. Raoul looked horrified that I had released the reins, and I sheepishly put my hands back down, thankful the stallion had not noticed my inattentiveness. "Just enjoy the day! Honestly, sometimes you're so fixated on one certain thing that you fail to see the rest of life!"

He was silent for several moments, and I glanced over to see if my statement had angered him. It hadn't (I hoped), but he did look rather philosophical. At last he shook off whatever thoughts he had, and met my eyes.

"It is a beautiful day," he commented, taking one large breath, then tilting his face back to look at the sun as it dappled through the thousands of leaves overhead. "You're right about so many things sometimes."

"I _am_?"

"Yes. You've always had me labeled as a straight-laced, boring aristocrat who was obsessed with his own self importance."

"I _did_? No. I'm certain I never called you self important," I said quickly, wondering if I had ever done just that.

"You didn't?" he mused, swatting at a horsefly that landed on his horse's neck. "Maybe that's how I see myself."

"Why?" I was baffled by the rather hard view he had of himself. I'd never heard him boast of his own attributes, and certainly never heard him put someone down because they had less than he did. Though he had admitted his biased opinions of Erik, but of course, Erik had slept with his fiancé. _And_ had gotten her pregnant.

"Sometimes I truly hate my title. It comes with responsibilities that I'm certain I never wanted. And my father didn't prepare me as other fathers do with their sons. I was shipped off to school, then entered the military – though that was my choice – not his."

"James has a legacy. That has to be worth something to you, Raoul. You have a rich family history..."

"But very little family," he answered softly. "I can count on a single hand the members of my family that I actually like. One Aunt Patricia, who will likely be dead within the next few years; James, of course; Charlotte, whom I will always claim; and Miriam, Marisa's older sister."

"But you have them," I insisted stubbornly. "You should give James as many happy memories of his father as his mind can store - Charlotte too. You won't realize that you'll miss your crazy Aunt Patricia until she's gone, and Miriam won't be around to tease you about pushing you into the frog pond when you were six and she was married and twenty-one."

"I told you about that?" he asked, his eyes wide even as his mind struggled to remember that he had told me quite a bit about his aunt and his cousins. Two years ago, in fact.

"You never liked Marisa because she was betrothed to one of your friends, and she cried off the night before the wedding," I said, hoping to clarify it for him.

"I said that?" he shuddered. "One would think I would praise her for not making his life a living Hell. Of course, he wasn't really my friend. I didn't like him either."

"Do you like anyone?" I asked, beginning to become exasperated.

"I like you," he declared with a rueful smile. "Does that count?"

"Only a little," I said, striving for a grumbling tone, meanwhile my heart raced ahead of me.

We were just entering Hyde Park, and it was rather late in the morning for people to be out strolling. We had both gotten a rather delayed start, probably because neither one of us had slept well. I allowed Raoul to lead the way, noting that we seemed to be moving farther and farther away from the foot paths, and towards a rather long stretch of water.

"The Serpentine," he informed me, sweeping his hand out in front of him. "A place where I would _not_ recommend swimming."

"In the nude?" I inquired cheekily.

Raoul laughed, "In _any _state of dress. Or rather...undress."

"Do you have a personal experience you would like to share?" I prodded, noting his face looked rather flushed. Oh, how I did enjoy making him turn red. He did it so well, and there was nothing he could do to hide it – poor man.

"Not particularly," Raoul muttered.

"Something _recent_?"

"Ah...no."

"Then it can't be that bad," I said, my tone as sweet as sugar. Now I rather desperately wanted to know the story behind the blush.

"Let's just say it involved a woman, a glove, and a rather large misunderstanding. And _lots_ of whiskey," he said, chortling with some memory he refused to share.

"I'm hooked," I announced, leaning across the space between us and patting his arm. "I will glean the truth from you somehow."

"I doubt even you could break down those walls."

I smiled at him, and his own seemed to falter a little. "I'm female. Anything is possible. Now, how about that race?"

"Are you-"

"God YES already!" I all but shouted at him, which startled Deceptive and made him throw his head in protest. "I'm certain!"

"Lacey..."

"He's fine Raoul. Really. I can handle him."

"Just...don't do anything foolish. Please," he said softly.

The concern in his eyes touched me, and I did hope I didn't make a liar out of myself by doing something so undignified as falling off or getting pitched, but I did want to race him. I'd always been a competitive person – with no one to compete against beside's my father. And he'd almost always let me win.

"One two three go!"

"Not fair," he said dryly, when neither of us moved past our walk. "I doubt this is going to be a...HEY!"

His last comment was lost as I nudged Deceptive into a canter and raced away. Raoul was beside me almost instantly, bearing me down with a look of annoyance, but I had not even broken into a gallop. I was just enjoying the rocking motion of Deceptive's easy gait, and feeling the rhythm that he set with his ground eating stride.

I loved the aggressive yet obedient horse, the way his ears bobbed back and forth in time to the thud of hooves on the ground, and how he held his head just a little low, telling me he was ready to go at any time.

"You're good," Raoul admitted grudgingly after we had loped along the treeline and moved further into Hyde Park.

"I know," I grinned cheekily, easing Deceptive ahead of Raoul just a tad. "That line of trees?" I asked, pointing to a row ahead of me.

"The two big ones?" he huffed, readjusting his reins.

"No, the small ones," I said, just to be contrary, indicating the ones slightly further ahead. I picked up speed, until we were neck and neck in an almost full run. Raoul's horse was now looking rather cutthroat, his ears pinned against his head and eyes wildly rolling towards his rival and former stablemate.

Deceptive though, was charged up with energy never expended doing something he obviously loved to do – run...

"Lacey...wait...!"

"Not on your life!" I shouted, then loosened my reins and gave Deceptive his head.

Deceptive stretched his legs out even more, and immediately my body jolted backwards, succumbing to his powerful surge. My riding hat, not feeling secure since I left the house, was lost, and laughter bubbled up inside of me. I was freer than I had been in ages, and flying higher each time his haunches rolled beneath my hips and the bay pushed himself one more length ahead of Raoul.

The trees were within my line of vision, and I bent low over his neck and gripped tighter with my knee, wishing I were riding astride. The wind stung my eyes like needles, and my vision blurred. Over the pounding of the hooves, I heard the sweetest song of liberty – one from my heart. It swept through my mind and I nearly closed my eyes in sheer pleasure at the way my heart lifted.

This was not an odd feeling for me while in the midst of such a run, but it had been so long since I felt it that I was overcome.

So lost was I in my unrestrained and wholly wild emotion, I nearly missed it when Raoul's horse began to harass mine in the flank, and I yanked on the reins to ease Deceptive to the side...thus...allowing Raoul to fly past me with a backbiting grin, and race right across the finish line.


	55. The Return

**Raoul**

I had feared for a moment there. For the few seconds between the time she gave that beast his head and the instant when she recovered control, I feared that Lacey was going to come flying off that horse. Then it was I who had almost lost my seat. Able to see her face lit up like a glorious and beautiful sunset had done something to me. It was odd how so many things about her could do _something_ – now that my eyes had been opened. I could look up and see her smile – it didn't even have to be at me – and my stomach would curl in pleasure. I thought about kissing her and that always led to other thoughts, and lately those urges were getting harder and harder to fight.

I had, quite honestly, given up.

Once past the make-shift finish line I pulled my horse back and turned to see where Lacey was, and caught her placating the poor beaten stallion and giving me a scolding look.

"I thought Dom was the only man in the world who would cheat just to win against a woman," she said good naturedly.

I shrugged helplessly and did the only thing a gentleman in my position could do: I blamed my horse.

"I can't believe you!" she laughed. "Blaming that innocent horse!"

"I could point out that_ I _did not bite your stallion," I protested with a grin.

"Well, then if you cannot control your own horse then I know I was destined to win. Therefore I must ask that you forfeit – "

"Forfeit!"

Lacey grinned, "– forfeit, so that I can stake a claim."

"But mine -"

Her eyes turned seductive, and I fell silent at the suggestive tilt to her head. "You'll like my claim, much better Raoul. Trust me."

I doubted that, but her statement intrigued me. She made no comment on what her claim would be, and my asking only prompted a sly little grin that pushed me closer to reneging on my promises not to touch her before I had asked her the question. Though that promise was only to myself, thus entirely unofficial.

We fell back into step with one another, and I could tell each horse was eager for another run. I kept my horse even with hers, though honestly his behavior was worse than the stallion's and I was constantly worrying about getting too close to her and starting a kicking match between my horse and Deceptive.

Lacey began to chatter about Emma's dress, which she had not gotten around to the previous night, but I didn't really want to think about Lady Wakefield's clothing. Thinking about that naturally led to...

"You're picturing her naked right now aren't you?" she asked in a friendly yet accusing tone.

Caught, I could do nothing more than grin.

"Shame on you, Raoul. Emma was very embarrassed by you and Dom seeing her like that," Lacey rebuked gently, but the teasing light in her eyes said that she found the whole situation entirely too funny. "I'm surprised you can look her in the eyes and not have your own fall out of your head."

"Well, I remember what you look like naked – half naked – and I look in your eyes every day," I said smoothly.

A rather loud gasp behind us revealed a woman, a well rounded lady to be precise, walking a furry orange dog about the size of my boot. She had undoubtedly heard both of our comments.

"Well!"

"I do beg your pardon, ma'am," I said sheepishly, cutting Lacey with a glance to stifle what I thought was a chortle.

"You...you French have absolutely no manners!" the lady said indignantly. Even the dog snorted at us, and within seconds she had tugged the little mutt away from us, a dutiful maid following with a matching furry mutt.

Lacey was able to hold it in until we were a respectable distance away from the incensed Englishwoman and her peevish dog before she burst out laughing. I cursed the fact that she was riding a stallion and my horse was ill tempered. I surely would have side passed right over to hers and pulled her face around for a kiss that would have silenced her laughter.

"Oh...I cannot wait to get home," she crowed. "These people are the ones without manners! Honestly! The polite thing would have been to pretend she hadn't been eavesdropping on our conversation."

"Lacey," I said grimly, "did we mention Emma's full name?"

She paused, her eyes wide. "Oh...I...don't remember."

I sighed heavily and nudged my horse faster to Clandon House. I sincerely prayed we had not ruined her reputation with our insensitive banter. Hopefully the eavesdropping woman was no one of importance, and if she had figured out whom we were speaking of, she wouldn't be believed even if she mentioned it.

- -

That, of course, was too much to hope for.

"Lady Blumling," Dom announced decidedly. "That was most likely the woman whom you encountered in the park. She's the biggest gossip...well...one of the biggest gossips in London."

I clapped a hand over my eyes, and heard Lacey groan. "I'm sorry, Dom. We..."

"No problem," he said cheerfully. "There will be no problems from this."

"That's easy for you to say," Lacey said testily. "You aren't Emma."

Dom's eyes lit up and he grinned bigger than I'd ever seen anyone grin before. "I'm going to marry Emma," he declared.

"You're _what_?"

We all turned to look at Esme, who was staring at her son with equal amounts of delight and shock on her matronly face. Dom stood and went to his mother, kissing her cheek and embracing her. "I'm going to marry Emma Wakefield."

"But Dom...I...have you...I..."

"It's alright. I haven't exactly told her my intentions. And now it seems she won't have much choice in marrying...she's been compromised."

"Compromised! Dominick Blackmore, I raised you better than that! Why...why...," she blustered, then stared at her son's engaging smile as if he were crazy.

"Not that way," he replied lightly. "But enough so that she may have to marry to protect her reputation. And I intended to ask her anyway."

"You _did_?" she said suspiciously.

"Yes," he responded, then took her by the shoulders and began to lead her away from the room. Before he closed the door behind them he paused to smile at us both, then bent low to his mother's ear. "Here's my plan..."

Lacey and I stared at one another, seated on the sofa together as if we were two children who'd been given a reprieve due to the insanity of others around us.

"So," she said coyly, touching the neckline of her dress and drawing my attention there, "is that what a girl needs to do to get compromised. Be seen naked by a man? I've already done that...now to have someone gossip about me in front of Lady Blumling."

My lips twitched at one corner, but I cleverly refrained from smiling. "I assume you are referring to your attempts to put a ring on my finger and drag me down an aisle."

"Doesn't the dragging come before the ring?" she asked innocently, pushing the lace on her dress down just a touch. "And who said I was going to do either of those to you? You've made it clear – "

"Lacey," I murmured, my fingers now joining in with other twitching parts of my body in response to her seductive little game.

She licked her lips. I knew this because I was staring quite hard directly at her mouth, and I saw her tongue dart out, wet the top one, then slide slowly over the bottom. I wanted to ask her then – right then – but more than anything I wanted to kiss her.

But I knew if I touched her the words would come out, and I'd realized too late that I didn't even have a ring. It didn't seem all that important to me, but it might be to her. Above all things I wanted to give her whatever dream she had, and do it in a way that she would find romantic, not that I'd ever been one for that sort of thing. But Jacqueline, bless her, had taught me quite a bit about what a woman wants.

Lacey wanted the fairy tale, and she deserved it.

I wanted to wait for the ball but didn't know if I could. Three days away seemed like a lifetime.

"I have to go out," I said suddenly, leaning forward and brushing a kiss across her lips. "Would you like me to take you to Erik's? I may be gone for a while."

"Where are you going?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at me.

"Er...I promised the magistrate I'd come by and look at a letter or something," I fibbed, wondering if it was too late to shop for a ring. "Then I might have to go back down to the docks."

"The docks!" she said in dismay.

I grinned at her disappointed look and vowed I would make it up to her. "I'll be back this evening. Hopefully much earlier than I was last night."

"I should hope so!"

I kissed her again, which always seemed to surprise and delight her. I knew she was likely confused and didn't understand my change in attitude. I didn't understand it myself, but the last two days had changed me in ways I couldn't quite believe. Lacey had changed me. I wanted to keep that to myself just a little longer, yet in the same instant, I wanted to sweep her up and announce to the world that I had fallen in love with her.

That scared the hell out of me...just a little.

"If you find me in your bed this time, you'd better take a bath first, Raoul de Chagny."

"If I find you in my bed," I whispered, moving my hand along her neckline in the same manner that she had done, "you might want to be prepared to be ravished. I've reached my limits, Lacey. You've pushed me there, one kiss at a time."

Her mouth parted, and with her characteristic brazenness she kissed me again.

- -

The walk around Bond Street should have cleared my head but didn't. Christ – I was shopping for a ring. That alone should have sent me scuttling back to Paris to have my head examined. It dredged up every conversation in which I had vowed never to remarry, and the fact that I was here anyway made me wonder why I was not as terrified as I should have been.

I was almost dismayed to realize that I was eager to do this: to start over, to put myself at another woman's feet with my lips puckered and my heart open. Yet I felt ready. I wanted to share my life with Lacey. I didn't want to drink myself into oblivion and spend another night alone. It was with some relief actually to be walking the street where every eligible and soon-to-be-non-eligible man in London walked.

The shops along Bond Street afforded me with quite a display of rings, and I tried to think of something that would fit a woman who was full of sunshine and a sense of humor that I hoped would keep my darkest thoughts at bay. A ring that would be passed down through our family, though I was still quite uncertain about having more children. I loved children. I loved Charlotte and James and Kate, and all of the other imps who were in my life and whom I didn't have a hand in raising.

I had James to myself. But I still had not fulfilled that dream men have of seeing their wife and child in maternity's most precious embrace.

Christine had never even tried to nurse Charlotte, and we had known it wouldn't be possible with James well before his birth. Still, Lacey was not dainty and fragile, and I knew that she did want children of her own. She'd said as much, though I wondered if I could convince her to be examined by a doctor before we made any decisions. I didn't want to remind her of other things, of other doctors, but she would have to become comfortable with it if she planned to conceive. And this time I would follow the doctors orders. If he recommended no children – then there would be no children.

I was scrutinizing a rather fine white gold band with a canary diamond and two smaller white diamonds on either side when someone nudged me sharply in the side. I glanced over and stifled a groan. I had been caught looking through the glass like a child longing for a chocolate bar.

"Dom," I grunted, pulling my face back from the inch of space that separated my nose from the display case.

"One would think that you'd have already purchased her ring," he said slyly.

"One would think," I said noncommittally. "I suppose you're here for Lady Wakefield?"

"Yes, well actually I was across the street when I saw you come in here." He peered down at the ring I'd been staring at with interest. "Is this the one?"

"I've no idea," I muttered. "Match her mood or her eyes. Tell me. You're the expert."

"Ah," he smiled, the answer coming to him as naturally as a well known song. "You match her mood, and tell her there was nothing that could compare to her eyes."

My laughter startled the jeweler out of the back, still wearing the jeweler's loupe he used to study the gems. "May I show you some of our fine jewels?" he inquired, looking pleased now to have two gentlemen inside his shop.

"Yes." I pointed directly at the ring that reminded me of a golden buttercup daffodil. "This ring, and two matching bands."

He smiled, delighted. "I'll have them ready in two hours, Sir. And you, Sir?" he asked Dom.

Dom patted his pocket thoughtfully. "I have mine already. Thank you."

- -

With the rings in my pocket and a lighter step I considered going directly back to Clandon House with Dom. But I really did want to propose at the ball, so instead I vowed to return smelling of fish for the next two nights in order to drive her from my bed if necessary. It seemed the safest way to preserve my promise and honor her still. I knew I could at least wait until I'd asked her to marry me, but I was a little doubtful if I could wait until the ceremony. With any luck Erik would play a role in keeping her away from me, although I was certain if he did I would not appreciate him in the slightest.

The putrid aroma of the docks greeted me well before I arrived. There were fewer Bow Street Runners than before, and I seriously considered returning to Lacey then. It seemed improbable that we would find Soboul now, and there was nothing worse than spending time in the company of Cockney Brits who despised me for being French.

"'ere, 'ere," one of them called. I glanced up to see him holding a young unfortunate pickpocket by his collar after he'd made the mistake of targeting a Runner.

He was a lucky one. The Runner pried his pocketbook out of the boys hand and sent him on his way with only a sharp rap on the back of his head. I kept a wide berth of the kid as he passed by me muttering to himself, "_Next time_ I won't be caught."

I settled against the wall of the wharf's merchant office and watched the activity around me. During my time in the navy I had been familiar with docks, although never fishing stations, but much of it was the same.

Ships come in; ships go out. Only occupations and destinations change.

At dark the lamplighter came along and tuned the same six lights he'd been lighting every evening since my first vigil. It suited me because it kept the areas around me in shadows. I wondered if Erik would have come himself if he had known it would be so dark. Of course he probably still preferred tunnel travel over venturing above ground with people staring. He never left his estate anymore unless Eva was strapped in front of him.

As the night wore on, I began to nod off, slouched against the wall yet still alert enough to keep a hand over the pistol tucked against my side. I heard a shuffling noise, and turned to look beyond the inky waters to the dock that stretched out parallel to the office. Under the light I caught a glimpse of a bruised face, and I watched a man walking with a slight shuffle towards a mid sized skiff. At his arm I recognized the round and sour face of Carolina Montausier.

"Soboul!" I shouted, and watched him spin around, nearly knocking his aunt into the water. Caught off guard he looked like an opossum scavenging through garbage.

I pushed off the wall of the office and started towards him, glancing over when I heard footsteps at my side. I assumed it to be a Runner, but a swinging motion alerted me that this man was not here to help me apprehend Blaise Soboul.

"Thomas," I growled, ducking his pathetic attempt to hit me. His soft stomach was a cushion to my fist, and I felt his exhale knowing I hadn't really hurt him. A blow to the jaw though was as effective as Lacey had said it would be. Thomas Montausier went down quickly with a slight little whine that made me forget the stinging of my knuckles.

I glanced back up to see Soboul and his aunt watching me, then looking back down at Thomas. I saw them suddenly look beyond me, and in that same instant, I felt a stunning pain explode upon the back of my head. All the world went nearly black, but before my consciousness slipped I realized that my valuables were being taken.

"See what he has," I heard Carolina call from across the water. "He's a rich one. A Vicomte!"

I groaned, wanting to lift my hands to fend off whoever had located Lacey's ring. My ring. "No..."

"You won't miss this, will you?" A voice taunted from above me. French...I couldn't place him...yet it seemed familiar...

"Put him somewhere, Clarke. Don't want the Runners finding his body till morning."

Clarke. Clarke...dear God...not Victor Clarke...

Whoever it was rolled me over, and I lost consciousness when he hit me again.

- -

This one took some thought and consideration, and ultimately my beta (rappleyea) agreed that she thinks I'm brilliant and let me bring a character back from the dead...

Sorry for the slow updates. But I have two more _almost_ ready...if you review...


	56. 7

_Erik x Eva Oneshot_

_Rated R...but not quite XXX_

Erik stood near the window in his rented townhouse, staring down at his wife who was nursing Stephan. Charlotte had fallen asleep on the sofa beside her, and Amber sat very still watching her step sister with a thoughtful and slightly mischievous look in her eyes. The journey from France to England had been absolute hell, especially the bickering between the two girls – though Charlotte had been ill most of the time. It had been her reluctant father who had held her hair from her neck while she was sick on the ship, and in the carriage, and on the train, and everywhere else that required a forward motion. The girl couldn't even tolerate carriage rides without turning a spectacular shade of green.

Now that she'd arrived in England she looked positively exhausted, and Erik intended to consult a doctor before making the return trip home. She was definitely Christine's daughter with her delicate manner and pale skin, but she'd blossomed into a healthy nine year old, and all too soon she would be a woman. Amber as well, though he suspected that Amber would be the shier of the two around boys. He could tell that Amber would be ravishing like her mother, but it would be his daughter who would attract them with her innocent beauty.

Thus the pact between Zachary and him: any adolescent boy within a hundred yards of either girl was to be drawn, quartered, tarred, feathered, then questioned rigorously on their intentions..

Zachary had accepted Charlotte much as Erik had taken in Amber, and to Erik's relief the situation between Zachary and him was even better than the relationship the girls shared.

Amber still wasn't sure what to call Erik, and most of the time she didn't use a form of address with him. Usually she just began speaking, and Erik would pay attention to her shy voice until he was certain whom she was speaking to.

"Do you think Charlotte wants to go to bed? She looks awfully uncomfortable."

Erik waited until her eyes shifted to him slightly before he moved across the room. Amber's hesitation was always noticeable whenever she had to speak to him. It wasn't that she didn't like him; she just didn't want to hurt her real father's feelings. Erik understood completely, though Charlotte had never shown any sort sign of being uncomfortable around Raoul whenever they were all three together. Charlotte was rather uninhibited when it came to people she loved, and for that Erik was eternally grateful because she was not like Christine.

"She does look as if she'd be happier in bed," Erik agreed slowly, then sat down beside his wife and looked at the child who'd won his heart. "I don't suppose you would carry her upstairs for me..."

"No," Amber giggled, "you're supposed to do that."

Erik released an exaggerated sigh and faced his smiling wife.

"Don't look at me. I just had a baby."

"How long do you think I'll let you use that excuse? The boy's practically grown," he grumbled, but he lifted his daughter in his arms.

"I'll use it as long as I can," he heard Eva call out behind him, then he heard the smack of a kiss before Amber's feet were shuffling up the stairs in front of him.

He laid Charlotte down on a big bed in one of the five bedrooms that had come with the fully furnished house, and waited patiently while Amber braided her hair and tied it off. At times she was a perfect little imitation of her mother, and he couldn't imagine what life would have been like had Zachary not found them when he had.

Still, Erik had waited almost three years before his wife had allowed him to get her with child. Three years, and he'd finally gotten the chance one hot August night while making love to her, and she had wrapped her legs around him and whispered the words he'd longed to hear, "Don't stop this time."

Before that he'd spent himself on the covers, and she'd taught him numerous ways (all interesting, but nothing like what she'd given him that night) that a woman could keep from conceiving. Still, he'd wanted to see her with child – his child – and finally he had what he wanted.

A squalling, puking, wrinkled and red faced son, who had no problems spraying his proud father with a warm stream of urine while he was trying to change his nappy.

"I'm ready," Amber said shyly, sliding beneath the covers beside Charlotte.  
"Two dogs, or one big dog?" he asked.

"One big dog," she repeated slowly.

Erik tucked his hands around the edges of both girls and pushed the blankets in tight. This was Amber's favorite time with him, and he hadn't missed a night in almost three years with her. At home, the girls had separate rooms, but Amber had quickly picked up on Charlotte getting tucked in by her father and immediately began asking her mother to do the same.

But Erik made the covers tighter, and somehow that made all the difference.

"All set?" he asked softly.

She made a noise in her throat that sounded like yes, and he leaned over and kissed her forehead, then Charlotte's.

"Goodnight Amber," Erik whispered.

She looked away, biting her lip. "Good night...goodnight."

- -

Eva was sitting in bed, Stephen's bassinet near the wall on her side. She looked up from some London gossip column she'd been chuckling over for half the night and smiled.  
"Did you read this?"

"No," he said rather dryly and sat down to pull off his boots. "Somehow I missed that issue."

"A certain Lady B was seen strolling through Hyde Park yesterday evening walking her proud Pomeranian Rufus, when an unidentified gentleman strolling a few feet behind her began cursing loudly that he had stepped into something unfortunate. One would think that Lady B would allow Rufus to abdicate his delicate matters in private – and at his own estate." Eva glanced up to see Erik not paying the slightest bit of attention to what she had said, and staring openly at her bare feet. "Is something wrong?"

He jerked his eyes back to hers and slowly smiled. "Nothing. I was just thinking of your swollen ankles."

"They're not swollen!"

Beside her the baby gave a little sound of protest at being disturbed by his indignant mother. Erik crossed the room and looked down into the bassinet, staring at his little bundle of sleeping joy.

"They're not swollen," she repeated, whispering angrily.

"I didn't say they were," he replied, reaching out to touch the wisps of brown hair that remained on his son's head. He'd been born with a head full of it – nearly black in color, then it had begun to lose its fullness until finally it lengthened into strands that were going to match Erik's. Eva had been grateful for that – red hair on a girl was one thing – on a boy it was not always attractive. "I said I was thinking of them – how they used to be."

He turned, chuckling when he saw that his wife had tucked her feet beneath the blankets and was scowling at him.

"Why were you thinking of them?" she bit off.

"I was actually thinking that I missed rubbing them," he answered, sitting on her side of the bed and drawing back the covers to see her feet, properly returned to their normal size yet curled up as if to hide from his eyes.

Slowly reaching out, he rubbed her shin, then down her ankle and squeezed the heel gently.

"Oh," she groaned, and simply placed both of her feet in his lap. "You win. Do whatever you want to them. Call them whatever you want as long as you..."

Eva's mouth fell open as he kissed the arch, then the curved bone above the sole. His hand worked the other one, massaging it gently with one thumb rubbing back and forth across the ball and between her toes.

"As long as I what?" he asked, grinning suggestively, nibbling higher up her foot to the inside of her calf. "No comments, little mother?"

"None," she gasped, opening her eyes to see the devilish gleam in her husband's. He was always like this, and since they'd had Stephen he'd barely given her time to recover before he was giving her looks that told her he wasn't prepared for the period of time when her body wouldn't be able to accept him. Now it seemed he was making up for lost nights.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and he carefully peeled off the mask and hairpiece before resuming his slow journey up her leg. She loved the way his eyes remained half closed as he kissed her, and the two equal fringes of his eyelashes against his cheeks.

"Erik..."

"Eva." His hands worked steadily as he untied the satin ribbon that was holding her maternity gown closed. It had alarmed him at first to find her so much...fuller. Then he had gotten used to it and behaved as any other man would have...he enjoyed them. "Are they sore?"

She blushed at his question and shook her head, her back arching from her pillow as he placed his palm across her nipple and rubbed his hand over the hard peak. If he wasn't careful they would fill too soon, then she _would_ be in pain, but it felt so wonderful to have his hands there - the place where she nursed their son, where she had nursed Charlotte, but not Amber. Erik shifted up closer to her and kissed each breast slowly, then stroked the side of her ribs.

"What about here?" he asked, his hand sliding down and cupping the place where his son had entered the world.

"I'm not sore at all," she whispered reassuringly.

They had been taking it rather slow for the last two months under the instructions of the doctor, but it was hard to always go slow and gentle with his wife who didn't always like to go slow and gentle. And hard to convince himself to do just that when she had the ability to drive him as insane as he did her.

"Can you be quiet?" he questioned, glancing over at the baby.

"I don't think he cares much, Erik," Eva murmured, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping her hands down his stomach. Erik closed his eyes and enjoyed her touch, often forgetting to kiss her when her hands strayed lower and lower down his body. "The girls are asleep?"

"God, I hope so," he muttered against her throat, licking a path to her ear. "It takes an earthquake to rouse them."

Eva stopped thinking and worrying and mothering, and gave herself to the moment. Erik always liked to explore her first, loved to take his time and kiss each inch of her, and he frequently took too long in some places in Eva's opinion. But he was tender and passionate, and he had never failed to please her.

"I love you Eva," he whispered, peeling off more clothes and watching as she slowly did the same. Their breaths caught as he settled between her legs and kissed her more, then stroked with his fingers and even for a moment – his mouth.

Her hand settled over his heart as he entered her, the length of him stretching her and filling her with pleasure. Eva lifted her legs around his hips and clung to him, letting him lead her this time.

It wasn't always this way. Some nights it was she who was in control, and Erik enjoyed those nights as well as any other. She hadn't imagined that after being married for three years that they would both be so consumed with one another. But she couldn't picture a day when it wasn't like this. Even when they were older she would still want him and need him.

"Erik," she breathed, feeling his hands slide beneath her hips and lift her up slightly. Their bodies parted in all but one place, and her hands curled into the sheets at her side as he thrust himself into her.

The soft gasps and moans that came from his wife drove him to distraction. Each sound upon his ears pushing him closer and closer to the edge. When it was clear that the tight coil within her was about to release he covered her body with his again and kissed her, drowning out each noise that was torn from her throat.

The feeling of her hands digging into his back was too much – the pain and the pleasure a combination that made his chest grow tight and his hands curl into her hair.

"I love you," Eva groaned, still enjoying the tremors of a major earthquake inside her system. Her hips locked around his, and he completely forgot that he was supposed to withdraw and not get her with child, but he couldn't have moved in any case.

"Don't stop," she begged, pulling him deeper into her body and clenching around him. "Don't...stop."

"I...can't...," he gasped, and exploded inside of her, knowing he would never, ever enjoy any other way they made love more than this, more than completely giving himself to her, and giving her part of himself that she was made to receive.

His arousal had not softened inside of her when the reality of what he had done began to nag at him. God, did he really want another child? How many could they possibly have? How many could she carry...and was it too soon? "Eva..."

"It's alright," she whispered, kissing his neck. "If we have another, I will love it just as I do all of my children. Just as I love you."

Erik shifted his weight to his elbows and regarded his wife with eyes that were being stabbed with tears. He traced the curve of her cheek with a long thumb and wiped away the gleaming moisture that had drawn on her brow.

"I love you. But if you give me another girl, we're going to have a serious conversation," he said softly, though he honestly didn't mind the thought of another girl – as long as she didn't behave remotely like Charlotte and Amber.

Eva smiled and rolled with him as he moved off her. Her arm curved over his stomach and her breasts, now beginning to fill, were pressed into his side. Absently he traced her back with one hand and pictured a little girl with his green eyes and her red hair. Or Eva's whiskey colored eyes and his brown hair. Where Stephen got his blue ones Erik wasn't sure, but he wondered if they might change soon to hazel.

"Do you think we should ever stop?" she asked, tracing her hands through the hair on his chest.

"Making love? Never," he said fiercely.

"Having children," she replied, tugging at a thatch of hair particularly close to his nipple. Erik grunted and disentangled her hand from his chest hair.

"We will have as many as you want, Evangeline. I can support them, and I...I will always know that someone will be there one day to take care of us when we are old and incontinent."

"That's disgusting. Why couldn't you have said old and gray?"

"Because...I'm a man?" he asked slowly.

She sighed, blowing warm air that cooled rapidly across his already chilling flesh. Erik got up quickly, instantly worrying that Stephen might be cold. When he touched the baby he was warm and content, though Eva was preparing her robe when he glanced over to her, indicating she wanted to feed him.

"He's sleeping."

"And in a minute he'll be screaming. Bring him here before my breasts explode."

Erik grimaced and did as she asked, wanting to retort and say that her comment had been equally disgusting. But when she cradled his son against her chest, and Stephen, still sleeping began to nurse – he knew that there was nothing disgusting in this. It was beautiful, and he knew if he watched long enough he'd be on his knees in front of her studying every motion of Stephen's lips and every drop of milk that escaped around his little rosebud mouth.

This was beautiful – his son, and his wife, and he suddenly looked forward to more children if he could watch each of them being nurtured by their mother this way.

"Seven," he said suddenly.

"Seven what?"

"Children. If we ever decide on a number to stop at – seven sounds perfect," he stated, letting Stephen hold his finger tightly as he suckled at Eva's breast.

Eva smiled at the adoration in his eyes and looked down to see that Stephen had finally graced his parents with his attention. Her throat tightened as she imagined the day of his first step, his first word, his first fight with his sisters.

"Seven sounds perfect, Erik," she whispered, feeling him grasping her hand and the swell of love in her heart. "Absolutely perfect."

- -

Hope this placates you, my lovlies. I have to make some changes to my next chapter. I'll try and get it to you before the weekend.


	57. Oh, Beans!

**Lacey**

I was roused none too gently from bed by the slamming of a door. For about ten seconds I was back in Salpetriere, a defenseless and slightly mad woman. Was a guard coming into the room? More than one? My knees locked together, and eventually I opened my eyes to see not the cracked ceiling with four hundred and eighty two mysterious black spots, but an elaborate silk canvass that I had grown quite comfortable with even in the dark of night.

"Son of a bitch," I heard Raoul mutter as he stumbled over something. I lifted my head to see him kick a footstool across the room, where it landed in another chair with a less than satisfying plop. "Damn fool," he continued quietly, and now I judged him to be wrestling with his boots.

"Raoul?" I whispered, reaching over to turn up the lamp.

His head whipped around to mine, and I took one look at him and began to feel a little queasy.

"Oh God, what _is_ that?"

"I spent the night in a vat of fish guts," he replied testily. "Frigging, disgusting fish guts."

"Uh."

I remained where I was in bed, covers tucked all the way to my chin as he stripped off clothes.

"You're not...coming to bed, are you?"

"No. I'm taking a bath, then I'm going to Erik's," he muttered.

"Erik's?" I echoed, glancing out the windows. "Goodness, what time is it?"

"Nearly five." He stopped after he tossed his shirt aside and looked at me curiously. "Since you're already awake you may as well dress. You're coming with me."

"I am? At five in the morning?" I wrinkled my nose, both in disgust at his odor and the idea of leaving his bed. "You know, Erik isn't really a morning person -"

"Get dressed. Now, Lacey," he interrupted in a tone that caused my blubbering to cease and my reluctant body to leave the bed.

"Did you find him?" I whispered anxiously. His eyes shifted away, and I took in his appearance in a new light. "Raoul, are you hurt?"

"Only my pride," he grumbled, and raked a hand through his hair. He winced suddenly, then looked at his hand as if expecting blood. "And my head. There's a lump back there the size of Rome."

"May I feel it?" I inquired, willing to draw on the self survival skills I'd learned to help him if necessary.

"My lump?"

I blushed, though undoubtedly he meant something different. "Your...head," I corrected, then blushed again when he raised his eyebrow at my reproachful tone. Two entendres. This was getting us nowhere.

"I have a split skull. I was nearly brained with a fish hook."

"Fish hook!" I exclaimed.

"Fish. Hook." He responded, enunciating each word, then repeating it again. "I'm lucky he didn't run it through me before he left."

"Where is he?"

"Probably half way to America by now. Or at least to the Channel. I'm going to travel down the Thames with the magistrate to see if we can find them before they reach the coast," he said quietly. "I want to catch him..."

"But let the magistrate do it!" I cried, ignoring the smell and reaching for his arm.

"I have to go," he whispered, setting me away from him with slightly sticky fingers. "He took something, something off my person. I have to get it back. It's extremely important to me. "Go. I'll explain everything once we get to Erik's."

I hesitated because it wasn't like him to keep something from me. That was something Erik would do, because he wanted to protect me from everything, especially bad news."

"But..."

"Shh. I have to, Lacey. I'll be back before the ball on Friday. I promise."

He kissed me with lips stretched out further than the rest of his body, and I caught the smell of the docks on him with stunning force.

"Oh...really. I wish you wouldn't go near a fish again. That smell is nauseating."

"Nice to know I have that effect on you," he said dryly, then shut the door in my face. All and before I found out if he was naked or not.

- -

Raoul kept his eyes closed and was silent on the way to Erik's. I could see the exhaustion on his face, and he'd allowed me to briefly touch his _injury_ (as I'd finally correctly dubbed it), and it was a rather large swollen and tender area. Thankfully the skin was not broken, though I suspected he was going to have quite a headache for several days.

The smell still clung to him after a change of clothes and a bath, and I felt a little sorry for him since I knew no one was going to want to sit near him. I didn't particularly want to, but I compromised by holding his hand.

Once we reached Erik's, he walked in a rather dejected fashion to the front door and rang the bell pull with as much enthusiasm as a wife of Henry VIII.

"You know," I mused. "Erik might not find this such a grave situation."

"Lacey, no," he said in a threatening tone.

"He might find it a little...amusing..."

"I doubt that, but thank you for reminding me of what I'm about to do."

"And what is that?" I asked demurely.

"Tell my mortal enemy that I was hit over the head and robbed," he said grouchily. He rang the bell again, then twice more rather insistently.

I covered my mouth as I heard a curse from inside, then the pounding of footsteps as someone rushed towards the door. Erik yanked it open so hard I thought it might fly off its hinges. He narrowed his eyes at each of us, as if we'd made committed a foul act upon his doorstep.

"Is this a bad time?" Raoul muttered, brushing past him with less manners than a child.

"For Lace? Never," Erik stated, not mentioning Raoul. Me he smiled at as I sailed into his townhouse.

"God you stink."

"So noted," Raoul said dismissively. "I have some news. You might want to wake everyone – and pack a bag."

"What sort of news?" he asked guardedly.

"The sort that must be delivered at five in the morning," I supplied helpfully.

Just then Eva joined us, looking sleepy and beautiful with Stephan across her shoulder. I surmised that it had not been Raoul's insistent ringing that had awakened his proud parents.

"Is something wrong?" she asked immediately. "Have you caught him?"

"No. Erik. You may want to wake Zachary and Rebbecca," he said gently.

Honestly he was beginning to worry me with his cloak and dagger routine. This was more like Erik, not Raoul.

"Now look, there is no sense in worrying Rebbecca. Or Lacey," he added graciously when I snorted.

"I'm not leaving," I announced.

Erik rolled his eyed then disappeared, returning moments later looking confused. "Zachary's not in his room."

"Did you check Rebbecca's?" I asked under my breath. Raoul heard me and nudged me none too gently in the ribs. My grunt alerted Eva, and she me slid a look out of the corner of her eyes that was purely suspect.

Erik finally shrugged when staring at Raoul did not pry the information from him. "You may as well go wake your sister."

"Oh," I whispered, lighting striking at my brain.

"Did you say something, Lacey?"

"No," I said emphatically. "I'll...I'll wake Rebbecca!"

"You don't know where her room is," Erik pointed out.

This would not be good. If Zachary was anywhere near where I thought he was – this would not be good at all. I didn't think Rebbecca had found the courage to talk to her sister yet, and honestly I didn't think she was going to anytime soon.

"That's alright," I said quickly. "I'll find it!"

I rushed from the room with no idea where I was going except upstairs. I turned and groaned when I heard Eva following behind me.

"Really – I can find Rebbecca's room!" I said loudly.

"Shhh...the girls are still asleep," she said peevishly. "Besides, I think Erik and Raoul might like to talk first."

I hurried the rest of the way up the stairs, then frowned. There were several doors. Should I just beat on them all? Or just start shouting when Eva approached one? I walked down the hall inspecting each door thoughtfully when Eva cleared her throat.

I turned and watched in a hysterical sort of horror as she turned a knob.

"See? It's this one. You were headed for – hmmm. It's locked."

I let out a huge sigh of relief just as the door opened.

"No," she murmured, then gave it a push. "Just stuck." And with that she went inside.

I raced after her. I'm sure I was saying something like,_ 'no',_ or_ 'don't'_, but by the time I reached the room there were three very shocked people all staring at one another.

"Rebbecca!"

"Eva!"

"And_ Zachary_?!"

"Eva!" Rebbecca wailed again, burying her face beneath the coverlet. "Get out of here!"

"Zachary Rougette!" Eva whispered sharply. "What are you doing in my sister's bed?"

"I _was _sleeping," he rumbled, giving us both a half smile, his dark hair tousled around his face. I'd never really noticed before, but Zachary was quite appealing. He was big and brawny, and for some reason I had the strangest urge to let him scoop me up into a hug like he was constantly doing with Rebbecca.

She'd complained for a long time about that. I hadn't even noticed when she'd stopped. But the look on Eva's face was enough to convince me that she had never, ever thought of anything happening between these two.

They were in bed together, not that I had expected anything less. Thankfully they were clothed because I could see Zachary's leg on the other side of Rebbecca and it was trouser clad.

"Wh-wh...?" Eva blustered.

"Eva, please get out," Rebbecca cried from her hiding space. "Please!"

Eva swung around to look at me, her eyes wider than I'd ever seen them, then she turned around and walked out. Zachary's face fell, and he exhaled a long and loud noise of pure frustration.

"I'm sorry Becca. I tried to stop her - "

"Out!"

Meekly I slipped from the room, closing the door behind me. Eva was standing in the hall holding Stephan so loosely I took him as I was afraid she'd drop him. Her eyes were rather blank, yet she didn't appear livid or even angry. She just looked purely surprised, with a rather large dose of confusion.

"Eva," I said quietly, snapping her out of her thoughtful daze. "They love one another. Please don't be angry with them."

"Love?" she whispered, staring down at the floor. "But my -"

"Is everything alright up there?" Erik called from below.

She blinked, and shook her head slightly as if to answer him. I couldn't tell what she was thinking or feeling, but I knew that mostly she was just stunned.

"Let her move on," I said softly. "If this is the only way that she can, and if he is the only man who can help her."

Eva nodded slightly and reached for her son, taking him and holding him to her face as if he was the greatest comfort to her in the world. I followed her mechanical body downstairs to where Erik and Raoul were looking quite serious and more than a little uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Erik asked, taking in Eva's white face.

"They're - "

"Going to be right down," I said matter of factly. "Right, Eva?"

"R-right," she stammered.

Raoul's eyes were nearly as big as hers, and I tried my best not to look at him. Doing so would cause me to say something, and undoubtedly it would be inappropriate.

"I thought I heard yelling," Erik insisted. "Is everything alright?"

"It's...it doesn't make sense," Eva whispered, not really speaking to anyone in particular. "I should have known...someone should have told me." She met my eyes, and at once they narrowed. "You should have told me!"

"It wasn't my place. Rebbecca should have told you."

Eva's lips trembled a little, and she glanced at Erik. "What do I tell my daughter? I..."

"Would someone like to tell me what's going on?" Erik demanded, rising from his chair and staring down at us both with blazing fire in his green eyes.

"I will."

We all turned to look at Rebbecca, who was looking uncertain in the doorway of the room. Zachary stood at her side, his chin up and eyes daring anyone to say anything about the woman he was holding hands with. They were inseparable, I realized. Nothing could part them. Nothing.

"Zachary and I were married yesterday morning," Rebbecca informed us, her shoulders shaking slightly as she stared at her sister. "We're...we're married, Eva."

"Oh bloody hell," Erik gritted out, just as Raoul choked on something. Air, I suspected.

Rebbecca let out a little sob and turned into his arms, and instantly Zachary's face changed from defiant to livid.

"What did you wake us up to talk about?"" he asked hotly.

"I'm...I'm not sure how to tell you this..." Erik said faintly, then looked to his wife.

"Just say it already!" I said testily.

But Erik couldn't speak. He looked at Rebbecca with such an obvious amount of pain in his eyes that my stomach turned into solid ice. The intensity of the moment had me gasping for air, and I didn't even notice Raoul had slipped up behind me until I was supported by strong arms that smelled of fish and man.

"Victor Clarke is alive," Raoul managed to say before all hell broke loose.

- -

Thanks to both of my betas for contributing to this story! You guys are wonderful!

:: Sighs:: iamphantomgirl has Saturday all to herself...what to do...what to do?

I will write another chapter...if you review! (But I can't guarantee my betas will be through with it)


	58. Three Happy Women

**Raoul**

Bedlam. Pure bedlam. Eva started sobbing, Lacey turned to me with absolutely no color in her face, and Rebbecca clung to Zachary and cried even harder against his chest. Erik glowered at me for saying it, when he'd already told me he wanted to break it to them gently.

"Great, de Chagny. Just great! And would everyone just hold on a damned minute?" he bellowed over the crying of the sisters and the low tones of Zachary trying to comfort Rebbecca. "He doesn't know for certain. Nothing is certain. By God, the man's supposed to be dead! We've already had one miraculous return from beyond in this family."

Eva moaned and clutched Stephan to her neck, who had also started crying, probably because everyone else was. I felt a start of guilt for blurting it out like I had, considering the circumstances of Amber's return into her life.

"We do not need another!" Erik finished loudly over the pandemonium.

"Raoul?" Lacey whispered, and I stared down into eyes that were troubled and anxious. "It's not true. Please tell me it's not true."

"I..."

"He was hit over the head. All he heard was a voice and a name. Anyone could be named Clarke. It's a fairly common name," Erik interrupted. "There was no mention of a Victor, just a _Clarke_."

"Raoul, please say something," Lacey demanded softly.

"I don't know if it's true or not. I'm not absolutely certain." Rebbecca turned and looked at me, her small frame supported by Zachary and little else. "But I think it was. I met him while Christine was in the hospital, and I believe it was Victor."

"No," Rebbecca said sorrowfully. "No..."

"Shh," Zachary murmured, caressing her hair. When he lifted his eyes to me I felt the hate in his expression down to my very soul. Whether it was directed at me, or at Victor Clarke I didn't bother asking. Zachary was pissed, and that was never a good thing. "Where is he?"

"I don't know. I don't know where any of them are."

"Any of them?" Lacey repeated.

"Your Uncle and Aunt Monstausier, Soboul, and Clarke. Whoever he might be," I said cautiously. I prayed it wasn't Clarke, but I was not going to be too optimistic about it. The entire situation with his death had stunk, and I couldn't even recall at the moment if his body had ever been recovered. "They boarded a skiff I believe, then undoubtedly were going to sail for the sea. There's still time to catch them if we hurry."

"All of us?" Erik asked.

"The magistrate is taking his own boat. He departed this morning while I was still trying to figure out what day it was."

Lacey's arms shot around my waist, and she squeezed so hard I felt my spine crack into place. It actually felt good, considering I'd been rolled off a dock and dropped ten feet below into a metal tank with putrid fish entrails. Her face pressed against my chest and the sweet smell of her hair were my first happy moments of the day.

"You'd better be right about this, de Chagny," Zachary said, his entire body rigid and eyes a peculiar combination of cold and hot. "And he'll die this time if you are, if I have to rip his fucking head off myself."

"Zachary!" Three women gasped all at once, and he muttered an apology.

"But I _would _rip his head off," he repeated forcefully.

I had no doubts about his ability to do so. With hands like that on a man, who needed weapons? I think Erik and I would both agree that neither of us wanted to tussle with Zachary. I'd seen a couple of his matches over the years, he was fair at sportsmanship, but that didn't mean he wouldn't kick someone's ass.

"If we all leave, who will watch over the women?" Erik asked in a harsh tone. I could see in his eyes a combination of a burning desire to go, yet the fear of leaving his family unguarded. And I also understood his reluctance to leave the safety of his home to possibly face exposure yet again.

"You can stay." I winced at the merciful word that came out of my mouth. At '_can_', Erik's head whipped around to mine, and I swore he thought about hitting me.

"I think not," he replied caustically. "_You _can stay."

"I'm not staying," I said stubbornly.

"Zachary will stay!" Rebbecca said shrilly.

"No."

"Zachary, you can't leave me," she whispered frantically.

He cupped a large hand under her chin and regarded her with a somewhat stern expression.

"You will not be afraid, Becca. Remember everything that I taught you, should you need to defend yourself. But I have to go with them."

"You can't speak to her like that!" Erik asserted loudly. "My God, man! She's a woman! She can't defend herself. Don't go putting those thoughts in her mind!"

With that Zachary put a hand down her skirt. I noticed Erik and Eva glance at one another with equally mystified expressions, and Rebbecca just stared up at Zachary as he removed a (true to his word) solid oak bat, about two feet in length.

"Tell me she can't defend herself," he said calmly, handing it to her. "Go ahead, sweetheart. Take a swing at him."

"Ah...no," Erik said slowly. "That's quite alright."

A change came over Rebbecca as she held that instrument. I noticed a confidence in her that had not been there before, though I suspected anyone wielding a bat would feel a little better about the odds. Still, I was not against the idea of having someone here watching over them.

"We'll go get Dominick to stay," I said quietly. "The Blackmore's wouldn't mind all coming here, though I do think it might be an inconvenience. I've already imposed on them enough. But Dominick could come."

"And who," Erik asked carefully, "in the hell is Dominick?"

"Lord Blackmore," Lacey put in with a wan smile. "He's London's biggest rake."

"Oh! Another aristocrat! Well then bring him right over," Erik said sarcastically. "I'm sure I'll feel safe with England's most consummate lover guarding my wife, her sister, and Lacey."

"He's getting married. And he's not London's biggest rake. Just the favorite," I said grumpily. "Can we get on with this? We're wasting time you know."

"Really, Erik," Eva admonished him with a glance. "Do you really think my virtue could be compromised by a stuffy Englishman?"

"He's half French," Rebbecca said, earning a glare from Erik. "Lacey thinks he looks like you."

"Like _me_? Well. Why didn't you say so?" Erik asked mockingly. Eva did not appreciate his tone, and nudged him rather sharply with her slippered foot.

"We don't have a lot of time," I reminded them. "It's already six. There should be a boat waiting for us right now. If you're coming..."

"I am," Erik sighed, then looked over to his worried wife. "You know I will return, Eva."

"Erik, the hospital," she said fearfully. "Please don't make me live through that nightmare again. Please stay."

He lifted her by the elbow and escorted her from the room, speaking in low tones, using words such as 'love' and 'strangle'. I supposed his devotion, and a threat to Dominick were somewhere in his speech.

"Becca, keep the doors to this house locked," Zachary said gently, a streak of worry in his eyes for the first time. "If anyone gives you problems, you hit them in the face with that thing, and don't ever stop running."

"I know," she replied almost cheerfully.

I felt Lacey shift in my arms, and realized she was staring at me expectantly. I caressed the side of her neck and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Would you like to return to the Blackmore's?"

"No. I'll stay."

"I promise you we will end it this time. One way or another."

Her eyes closed, and a tear escaped from beneath a flickering eyelid. "Please don't say it like that. It sounds so...fatalistic.

Zachary bounded past me, muttering a, "Let's get going." Then shouting for Erik to join him. I heard Eva crying long before Erik stalked out the front door, a hat pulled down low over his eyes.

"I have to go, Lacey," I said softly, squeezing her to me tightly.

"Please be careful," she whispered, her face drawn and tight with unshed tears.

"I'll stop by and let Dominick know what's going on," I reassured her. "He'll protect you if necessary."

"Come on, de Chagny! You were the one in such a damned hurry!" Zachary yelled through the open door.

I kissed her once more, hard, then sprinted outside to where both of them were standing impatiently. I paused just before shutting the door, and Erik threw his hands up in the air.

"If we don't leave now my wife's going to drag me back inside," he declared.

"I forgot something," I muttered. I walked back inside and shut the door behind me, hopefully obliterating the view of the prying eyes of two curious men. Lacey was standing in the center of Erik's sitting room with her back to me, her arms hugged tightly across her stomach.

"Lacey," I called gently.

She spun around and stared at me with distressed blue eyes that prompted me forward until she was once again in my arms.

"Yes?" she inquired hesitantly.

"I love you," I whispered, and kissed her with the fierceness of a man about to go mad with happiness, even amidst a storm of worry. "No matter what happens, just know that I love you."

"Raoul...oh, God, please don't say it like that...but please say it," she cried, her arms locking around my neck. "Please say it. I've wanted to hear you say it for so long."

"I love you, Lacey," I repeated, aggressively claiming her mouth. She yielded to me completely, giving her entire soul into that kiss as if she thought it might be our last. I would pray very hard that it wasn't, and that I would have the chance to reclaim the rings and put an end to the devices of those who could hurt us.

"I love you, Raoul. I've always loved you. I always will," Lacey whispered fiercely. "And you have to come back safely. If you don't I will never let you hear the end of it. Or Erik."

"I will come back," I promised. "But I have to go right now. Expect me at the ball on Friday, at the very latest."

A sigh of happiness that did not come from Lacey prompted me to look over my shoulder to where Eva was standing with one hand beneath her infant son and the other clasped over her heart. On her face was a look of pure happiness, and beside her Rebbecca was looking at us with an equally dreamy expression.

"I have to go," I said again, growing uncomfortable with all the extra attention. At least Erik wasn't watching.

"Are you going to get on with it, de Chagny, or are we going to retrieve your wedding rings?" Erik yelled to me from outside.

Lacey's perfect little gasp came immediately after Erik's announcement, and two other feminine sighs gave me the impression that our interlude was definitely over. I looked back to Lacey, and her eyes were sparkling with bright beautiful stars.

"I'm going to retrieve _our _wedding rings," I said simply.

And before she could say another word I kissed her again, then left three women looking quite a bit happier than they had in the moments prior.

- -

I put something on my profile yesterday for this story about Gibson Girls. Check it out...this is how I picture Lacey.


	59. Two Cakes, and One Side of Beef

**Lacey**

"Well?" I asked eagerly, trying to pump Eva for information. Erik had obviously told her a little before he left, and since Raoul was not here for me to pry at then she would have to do. "What does it look like?"

Eva sniffed as she brushed Amber's hair, still distressed by Erik's departure. "I don't know."

"You don't know! Why didn't you ask?"

"I did ask, silly girl," she replied, glancing at me. "Oh, Lacey, not that way. Charlotte will resemble a Hungarian Sheepdog if you fix her hair like that."

Charlotte glared at me suspiciously, as if suspecting I would do so on purpose. "What is a Hungarian Sheepdog?"

"I have no idea," I said dryly.

"Well I don't want to look like one. Do as Mama tells you or she can fix it herself."

I sighed, then wondered how we had gotten off topic. The most important thing in my mind right now was the safety of all three men - and what my wedding ring looked like.

"Well? What did Erik say?" I prodded.

"He said he didn't ask. Your...er...Aunt Carolina was the one who suggested that Raoul's pockets be cleaned."

"Bitch," I muttered.

"Lacey!" Eva yelped. "My God, would you watch your tongue?"

"What is a bitch?" Charlotte just had to ask.

"It's a bad word," Amber put in. "You shouldn't say it."

"And where did you hear it?" Eva asked sharply.

"Papa says, _'son of a bitch_!' and _'you fuuusssshhhhh'_..."

Eva clamped a hand over Amber's mouth and looked at both of her daughters with a very grim expression. "Whatever you hear out of Zachary Rougette's mouth is best forgotten. And Lacey's. Do you understand girls?"

"Yes, Mama," they chorused.

"Now, go play somewhere. And no curse words!" She called as they raced out of the room, undoubtedly going to their room to practice their new vocabulary.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly.

"I hope one day you have a passel of children, and they all speak like sailors," Eva grumbled.

"I just hope I can have one," I said softly. I stared down at Stephan who was kicking his feet in the air on a blanket between us. This child was the one who had started my new life. The one who had made me break free of my fears and try to go after something I wanted. I loved him, and I loved James. Amber was the sweetest girl I had ever known, and Charlotte was an interesting combination of Erik and Raoul, which I found particularly endearing. I didn't know her mother, but I suspected her two fathers had more to do with her slightly exasperating ways than Christine.

"Lacey, how long has it been going on between Rebbecca and Zachary?" Eva asked hesitantly.

"Why aren't you asking your sister?"

"Because she's hard to talk to. Because I don't know what to say."

The scars over Rebbecca's heart had always kept Eva firmly away from her. It had been hard for Rebbecca to watch Eva marry, love her children, and grow into a new family. Eva and Erik had never tried to exclude her, but they had respected her wishes to be left alone. Try as they might to help her, she never visited unless they forced her to come, and any attempts of Eva's to get closer to her sister had been met with resistance.

Rebbecca had told me that she always expected to find Eva, and live reunited in their parent's home. That had been her dream while she was lying in a hospital bed, counting the same four hundred and eighty two mysterious black spots as I. My dream had been of a man whom I barely knew, but someday hoped to know very well. A girlish dream, to be sure, but Someone had been looking out for us. We had found one another under the oddest of circumstances that I had always felt in my heart to be divine intervention.

"Why don't you just say that you're happy for her? Because that is all that you can do, Eva. Anything else will hurt both of you, and the girls," I said patiently. "As if this family could get odder."

Eva raised a brow, then glanced down at her son. "You don't think it will become odder? What do you think will happen when our children become friends? Erik intends to have seven... "

"Seven!"

"Seven," she repeated. "Seven children, and I really expect no less as vigorous as he is."

"I'm not certain I wanted to hear that."

"One day little Stephan might decide to marry," she said almost dreamily. "I could just imagine him marrying a daughter of yours."

"Oh! That probably isn't a good rumor to get started. Can you imagine the respective father-in-laws? I mean, really Eva. They'd kill each other."

"They haven't yet," she murmured. "With seven children...seven weddings..."

"Erik may rethink his decision to have seven if you remind him of _that,_" I said quickly.

But she was not to be deterred. A mother with seven children (even if only three were present and accounted for) was a dangerous thing. I could only be thankful that James was significantly younger than Amber, and Charlotte and James were blood related. But the idea of Raoul giving a daughter of ours away to Stephan was an interesting thought indeed. I could only hope it wasn't little James who became enthralled with one of Erik's still-to-be-born daughters. That was even more interesting, and frankly a little bit scary

- -

Dominick Blackmore arrived with my clothing, an invitation from his mother to stay at their estate, and a smile on his face the size of Big Ben. With three adult women, two small girls, and one mere male who was a _only _baby (and who was sleeping soundly upstairs), Dom was in his element.

He sighed happily, the sound of a man utterly content. "It is a shame indeed that I am taken, ladies. Don't trouble yourself with trying to impress me. No, no, please. I have pledged my love to another."

Eva, Rebbecca, Amber and Charlotte glanced at one another as if he were mad. I giggled, because it was just something Dom would say, and he did it with the barest hint of humor that might make some think he was being serious. I suspected that his appeal to women – saying something in a dejected fashion to inspire pity for a man as handsome as sin – worked quite well for him.

"You in particular," he said soberly to Amber. "have the ability to make me rethink my decision to marry. How old are you? Seventeen?"

"Are you funning me?" Amber asked, perfectly serious.

"Of course he is," Charlotte said, her disdain evident. "Papa wouldn't like you speaking to us like that."

"I know. I met him," he said with a dry cough, then touched his throat reverently. "An interesting man."

"My husband," Eva informed him tartly, obviously daring him to say something unkind.

"Yes. Seldom have I ever been greeted with a threat to be...ah...," he cleared his throat then glanced at Charlotte and Amber. "Never mind. Monsieur Chartraine was assured before he left, numerous times, that I would protect you ladies. And I shall."

"Where is your bride?" Rebbecca asked rudely.

Not to be deterred, Dom smiled at her. "Ah, she doesn't exactly know she is to be a bride yet. But she will, come Friday."

"Lady Wakefield was being conned by Blaise," I explained. "Now that Lord Blackmore has seen her...feminine...features..."

Rebbecca and Dominick, the only ones who knew the story, started to choke violently.

"Lord Blackmore is going to propose...," I trailed off, then narrowed my eyes at him. "Have you purchased her ring?"

"Yesterday," he said nervously, patting the front of his coat to assure himself it was still there. "Why?"

"May I see it? Since it appears mine has been lost," I muttered.

He blew out a breath of relief that I knew I was about to be engaged, then withdrew two boxes from his coat. A brilliant ruby surrounded by smaller diamonds for the betrothal ring, next to the smaller wedding band. In the other box was his band, and I touched it with a smile.

"You said you wouldn't marry for love," I reminded him, watching the suave Lord Blackmore duck his head in an embarrassed grin.

"I was wrong, wasn't I, if I may call you _Lacey_ now?"

"You may. I am glad that you found someone. And Emma is a lucky girl, indeed."

He looked vaguely uncertain at that, but nodded his head. I was surprised that the slightly arrogant but charming man could worry that he was not up to scratch for Emma. Then again, he had plowed his way through more women than most.

"And you, Rebbecca. I heard your happy news this morning. I must offer you my congratulations," Dom said, missing the undercurrent of tension that was between Eva and the new bride.

All things considered – if Victor was alive – then she wasn't a bride at all. I noticed her eyes start, and reached for her hand to comfort her.

"What news?" Charlotte demanded, glancing suspiciously at her Aunt Becca. The two had never really gotten along, and I didn't really suspect that they ever would. Amber she loved, but Charlotte grated on her nerves endlessly.

Rebbecca, unprepared for the questions without the support of Zachary beside her, burst into tears.

- -

Where Dominick disappeared to with two aweless nine year olds was a mystery, but in under a minute he'd convinced them to take a stroll with him around the corner to buy _'something delicious'_. Rebbecca hiccuped, trying to subdue her tears in front of Eva, who wasn't quite sure what to do.

"She needs you to tell her it's alright," I urged her with a sharp jerk of my head, pointing to the weeping girl. Eva bit her lip and stared at her sister, and I realized the ocean between them was wider than even they had ever imagined.

"Rebbecca?" Eva tried, then appeared flummoxed. "I...I'm not angry."

"You're not?" Rebbecca asked, lifting her swollen eyes to her sister.

"No, just incredibly surprised. And I'm a little curious, but mostly surprised."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she gasped, her breathing growing a little harder and hysteria rising. "I didn't know how, and it didn't make sense to me. But I started feeling things for him, and I was scared. And I'm sorry, so sorry, Eva. I know this is difficult, but I do love him. And now Victor is alive and I don't know what will happen!"

Eva, who I thought was the world's greatest mother but a rather clueless sister, finally moved from her perch and took a seat beside Rebbecca. "I don't blame you for loving anyone. Especially not Zachary. And if he makes you feel complete, then I have no cause to complain. Not if he makes you happy."

"But...but..."

"If someone told me that I couldn't love Erik, or that we could not be together then I would fight kicking and screaming to whomever was stupid enough to say such a thing. Lacey loves Raoul, and I am so happy for her that things have finally worked out."

"Me too!" I put in, because they were going to make me cry, and dammit, I didn't want to cry.

"If Zachary makes you happy, and if you do the same for him, then you have my blessing. And Erik's blessing. I love you, Rebbecca," she whispered, wiping away a tear. "I want my sister back. That's what I've always wanted."

Rebbecca began to bawl, and threw herself into her sister's arms. With no one to hug me, I felt rather ridiculous just sitting there crying like a ninny.

"Well this is touching," I announced with a watery expression. Both of them turned to regard me with matching looks of tearful joy. "But I'm going to bake a cake. I've had it with all this crying."

I turned and stalked in determined pursuit of the kitchen.

"It had better be chocolate!" One of them shouted after me.

A few moments of silence then...

"Yes! Chocolate...and make that _two_!"


	60. Reunion

**Raoul**

We'd made it no more than three miles down river when Zachary tried to express his regret over the way things had gone with Rebbecca and Eva. And how I wish that he had never opened his mouth, especially with the events that followed.

"I'm not afraid of you," he told Erik, his finger an inch away from Erik's nose. "Just so we're clear."

"Perfectly."

"My _wife_ was terrified to say anything," he clarified.

And I just had to point it out for him. I really couldn't resist. "Technically..."

"Shut up, de Chagny," Erik warned me.

"Technically what?" Zachary growled, his silver – gray eyes daring me to give him any more bad news for the day.

"Technically if Victor is alive," I ignored Erik's frantic wave and plowed ahead, "you and Rebbecca are not married."

Zachary did not look pleased by this announcement, and turned back to Erik who nodded shortly to confirm it.

"Son of a... "

"You'll just have to marry her again," I said calmly. "Surely it wasn't that bad. And now she can have her family with her."

From the way his mouth tightened I suspected this was not good news to him either. Zachary, a self proclaimed bachelor who in the past had admitted he was gun shy, was undoubtedly a little reluctant to speak his vows in front of an audience.

"Get your finger out of my face, M. Rougette," Erik said, shrugging past him with an annoyed expression. "And if I had known you were interested in Rebbecca then I would have done whatever Eva asked of me. My wife is not terribly happy about the way things happened..."

"Too frigging bad!"

Erik's eyes narrowed, and I grimaced as he took two steps forward. "Watch what you say about Eva."

"Or what?" Zachary taunted him.

"Gentlemen..."

"Shut up de Chagny," both of them shouted.

They stared at one another intently, and I wondered if they had any idea what it would do to Eva and Rebbecca if the two of them got into a fight.

"You want to hit me, Erik?" Zachary asked softly.

"Very much so," Erik said readily.

Zachary jutted his chin out, "Go ahead. You're the only one on this boat who hasn't hit anyone recently. And you only get one..."

The next moment I was lying on the deck and my lip was bleeding, and Erik had a rather satisfied smirk on his face.

"What the hell did I do?" I bellowed.

"You were closer," Erik said, not looking apologetic in the least.

"Ha! I was _not_!"

Erik's fist pulled back again and flew into Zachary's eye. The larger man stumbled backwards but didn't fall, not that I had really expected him to. He didn't howl or flinch or fling himself into the fray. He just gave the curt nod of a man accustomed to being hit often.

"Feel better?" he questioned Erik.

"Much."

"I don't," I muttered, but they ignored me.

"Rebbecca is the one who didn't want to tell her sister. For the record," he stated evenly. "And I'm not afraid of Eva either."

"You should be," Erik mumbled, then the two of them turned back to the river and stared at the water as it flowed around the boat.

I would have said that the captain of the vessel I had hired thought we were all cracked, but since he was Irish I suppose he had quite a laugh watching three Frenchmen harass one another mostly due to bad moods and not enough sleep.

"How much farther?" Erik asked, pulling a pocket watch out of his coat, and sounding a great deal like Charlotte.

"You might as well put tha' away, boy," the old captain advised him. "We won't be goin' back ta London tonight."

"Whaaat? You said nothing about being gone all night, de Chagny!"

"Actually I told you to pack a bag," I said mildly.

"I..." he paused, then scowled. "I suppose you did."

"More than likely we will be back on Friday if we have to go all the way to the channel. With any luck they've all been caught."

"You said they were in a skiff, boy?" the captain asked me.

"That's what it looked like to me," I replied, though it had been dark, and I'd been focused on Soboul.

"Hmmmph. You don't see too many of those around Southwark. Probably couldn't get on a regular ship ta leave the country, bein' hunted and all. Easier ta travel down ta Dover by land, or ta the sea on the Thames in your own boat. If you're lookin' ta avoid trouble, that is. Doin' that you can board in another city, away from those pesky Brits."

"You sound as if you've done this before," Erik said sarcastically.

"I'm Irish," he replied, and left it at that.

- -

We caught up with the magistrate in Gravesend where the scheduling of ships to and from London took place. Traffic is so thick with ships coming in and going out that it required a full staff of people just to direct the boats through the river to avoid accidents.

"They abandoned the skiff," the magistrate informed us irritably.

"Have you searched the inn?" I asked when his eyes kept straying to Erik.

"Of course," he replied, affronted that I had the temerity to ask.

"And the docks?" Erik added.

"Look here, don't tell me how to do my job," the magistrate huffed, then stalked off complaining to himself.

"Go ask around yourself," Erik advised. "See if anyone knows anything. And pay them, that always works. I doubt your magistrate's salary covers bribes."

"What about you?"

Erik smiled mockingly. "I'm going to do what I do best."

And with that he disappeared into the inn.

- -

Several hours later it was dark and I'd come up with nothing. I returned to the inn to meet Erik. The magistrate had gone down to the next town a few miles away to question the dock manager, and Zachary had gone with him. Erik and I found ourselves in a virtually deserted inn eating something called hash. I noticed that Erik did not comment on the questionable looking meal and actually appeared to enjoy it, so I made a valiant effort to choke it down.

"Tomorrow morning," Erik said, "there's going to be an old man in red handcrafted boat on the river, and he'll be fishing by himself along the button willows below the inn. Ask him about the people on the skiff. He should have seen something."

I stared at him for several moments, but decided I had to ask, "And how do you know this?"

"There's always an old man near the button willows fishing," he said philosophically. "No matter what river; no matter what country."

"And does he always have a red boat?" I asked curiously.

Erik grinned and took a drink of ale stout enough to wipe the smile off his face. "It will be red," he promised.

- -

Red it was. An eighty year old man near the button willows (I assumed them to be button willows), was fishing with a cane pole and a rather large bucket of bait. After spending a few moments discussing the success of his day, (Erik's advice) I got around to asking if he'd seen the skiff and it's occupants.

"Yes, I seen 'em. That woman was hollering the entire time! Never marry a woman like that," he preached loudly.

"I won't," I said, and he nodded approvingly. "What else? Did you see where they went? Did they board another boat?"

"Aye, but they didn't get on another boat. A carriage picked them up and they crossed the old bridge, headed south."

"South?"

"Aye, south! Are you deaf?" he hollered, beginning to look peeved that I was interrupting his fishing.

"What lies south of here?" I asked, ignoring him.

"Brighton, Dover, Canterbury," he muttered. "Course the main road goes to Dover. You'd have to be a halfwit to go from London to Gravesend to Brighton."

He continued to talk to himself as I called a thank you and ran back to the inn. Erik was waiting with a knowing smile on his face.

"Dover," I wheezed. "I think they've headed toward Dover."

Within fifteen minutes we'd bought two horses and were riding hell for leather toward Dover. I was mildly grateful that it had begun raining the night before and had not stopped. While it didn't slow us down, I had every hope that their carriage would be stopped somewhere, or lying in a road ditch with everyone inside dead.

I hesitated to wish death on a woman, but I was truly in no mood to stop those thoughts in my mind. Carolina was as bad as the rest of them in the way they had conned Lacey. She had also stolen the rings that had meant the beginning of a new life for Lacey and me. She would pay for that.

Around noon we rode through a little village that possessed two inns. With the rain still beating down, I knew no self respecting hired coachmen would risk his carriage or neck to navigate the deep mud. We stopped at the closest inn first and had no luck, but near the stables of the slightly more refined Stag and Fox, I spotted Thomas.

"That's Lacey's uncle," I whispered, and Erik pulled his hat even lower over his eyes.

"Looks nothing like her," he stated quietly.

"They aren't closely related."

"Good," he said. "Then she won't miss him if he dies."

Thomas stood with his back to us, smoking and running a hand through his hair. Next to him was a muddy carriage missing a wheel, likely the cause of his anxiety.

"I suggest we take out Thomas, put him somewhere safe," he concluded. "Then on to the younger ones and the woman."

"Define_ take out_."

"That's up to you," he replied. "I don't plan to go to jail in England, but if you want to kill someone then be my guest."

Thomas was easy enough to silence it turned out. He loitered around the stables smoking, and I watched Erik slip up behind him and slowly choke him into sleep. I helped heft his body into an empty stall, and Erik crouched down beside him while I borrowed his hat and made for the inn.

There was no one in the reception room except a very young and buxom lady guarding the front desk like a suspicious she-bear. I tipped Erik's hat back to regard her with what I hoped was a devastatingly charming smile.

"Hello, lovely," I greeted with perfectly smooth French accented English. She batted wide brown eyes at me, and I confided that I was terribly hungry (which was not a lie), and asked to be given a quiet room, as far away from her most annoying guests as possible.

"Well handsome," she replied, leaning forward enough to show me a gracious amount of her breasts, "then I recommend the other inn. Because that woman in the third room will likely annoy the stink from a turnip."

"Oh?" I asked, perfectly, innocently listening with a compassionate face. "Not that rotund gray haired woman and her equally obnoxious husband?"

She began to nod quickly, and I smiled.

"You've been a great help, my dear. Now tell me, do you own this fine establishment?"

"Fine?" she scoffed. "No. And Brimley, the owner, lives in London."

I slid her fifty pounds, an amount larger than she would make in two years working here and possibly more.

"Take the rest of the day off, girl," I said quietly. "Get yourself home. Trouble may be coming."

Eyes wide, she nodded and ducked out of the side door with the money firmly clenched in her hands. I watched her scurry across the street, then along the boardwalk until she was out of sight.

I waited patiently behind the desk until Erik arrived, confiscated a master key and motioned toward the dark hall. "Third room. Carolina's first. Then the others."

"Carolina first," he muttered. "Do you have any idea how much trouble women can be?"

- -

Quite a bit as it turned out. We opened the door after listening to her snore for a good minute, and found her lying on top of her bed, getting her beauty rest, though I had my doubts that Carolina had ever been beautiful. I'd met her a handful of times, and always found her inner character to make her far uglier than she ever would have been on the outside.

I glanced around the room as Erik shut the door, seeing an unpacked valise and a large reticule. The prize I sought however, Lacey's ring, was on her sausage-like pinky.

"There," I mouthed, pointing to my own hand, then to hers.

I started forward, and a piercing howl made us jump nearly a foot into the air and woke Carolina.

"Robbers!" she gasped, her eyes only seeing Erik.

Erik laughed shortly. "The mask will always be necessary, but I'm no longer a thief."

The dog, or cat, or rat – whatever I had stepped on to rouse Carolina - slipped under the bed and made hissing noises, as well as fierce, feral growls.

"I believe you are the thief, Madame" I said, drawing her eyes from Erik to me.

"Vicomte!" she exploded, then began trying to wiggle from the bed. When her body would not budge in the depression of the mattress, she unsuccessfully tried to roll over.

"You'd better go and see if you can catch Soboul. Likely he's making a run for it," I told Erik, then set about the task of tying Carolina up.

She kicked, fought, and began to scream. Unwilling to hit her, I tried to gag her with a washcloth only to be bitten until blood was drawn.

"Dammit!" I roared.

"Get off me!" she screeched.

In a moment Erik was at my side and somehow together we tied an opposing arm and leg to the bed posts and managed to stuff a rag into her mouth. Carolina glared at us with hate in her eyes, and a good amount of fight still left in her. Quite honestly I don't know where she summoned the energy, because I was exhausted.

"Jesus," Erik whispered, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Where's Soboul?" And Clark?"

"Well there was a man already tied up in the next room. But it wasn't Clark, and I saw no sign of him."

"No sign...?"

Carolina interrupted me with a hyena-like laugh that sent a chill through me. I stared down at her, and felt a cold trickle of fear enter my veins.

"Where is Clark?" I demanded from Carolina.

She only worked her jaws when I removed the rag from her mouth, and gave me an evil smile.

"My rings," I said quietly, and took her hand to try and remove the one that was there. "Search her luggage. The other one should be in there somewhere."

I had to twist and pull, all the while fighting her to keep her hand open until at last Lacey's rings were back in my possession, and Erik had pulled my own band from her reticule.

My satisfied smile was soon wiped from my face though, when Carolina finally spoke, "Victor is in London, I imagine. Reuniting with his long lost wife."


	61. The Power of Girls and Chocolate

_Thursday morning...at the same time Erik and Raoul are panicking_

**Lacey**

Only half of the moist fudge cake remained the next morning, although it was certainly not forgotten. It taunted us to have it for breakfast, but Eva was firmly against the idea of teaching her children bad habits. Thus they were given a proper breakfast first, a very _small_ slice of cake, then sent upstairs to play while the adults indulged in the remaining cake with a fantastic sense of glee. Dominick - who had eaten one entire cake by himself the night before - laughed at us women who couldn't put away quite as much.

"You'll get fat," I warned him.

"Nonsense," he said, waggling his brows. "I know how to work off my meals."

"Lord Blackmore!" Eva said sharply, but laughed anyway.

"Why, Madame Chartraine! Your mind has left the clean streets and slithered right into a gutter! _I _was referring to my boxing regimen, and the fact that I walk almost everywhere despite our...ahem...fair weather."

"I'll bet," Eva snorted.

"I would greatly like to know your thoughts, Madame," Dom said with a wistful smile. "But I suspect your husband wouldn't like me knowing them."

"You suspect rightly!"

He chuckled roguishly, and eventually finished another piece of cake. "Ladies, I really hate to leave good company, and good cake, but I promised my mother I would meet her this afternoon and help her. And since you have refused to accompany me twice now, I'll send a couple of footmen over to sit outside your door; and of course Clandon House is only two blocks away should you need anything."

"A man who respects his mother is a man to keep," I quipped, the saying something I'd read in an etiquette book as a girl. Raoul never spoke of his mother, or his father. I wondered if they had gotten along. It was times like this I cherished, being around people I loved. It was truly a shame that we would not be present for Dom and Emma's wedding, because I found myself liking them a great deal.

"I'm glad you think so," he grinned, then stood to pull on his coat.

"And what does a footman do?" Eva asked, and I nudged her under the table with my toe.

"Whatever you tell them," he replied soberly, with barely a hint of teasing in his eyes.

"When will you be back?" Rebbecca questioned, looking anxious now that he was going when she'd taken no particular interest in him before.

"Soon," he promised. "My mother, bless her heart, intends to invite you and Madame Chartraine - and your respective husbands, of course - to her ball. Which has become my betrothal ball, by the way."

"Oh!" Eva exclaimed, then her face fell. "I'm sorry. I cannot accept."

"And I know why," Dom said kindly. "But she will invite you nonetheless."

I followed him out to the front door and locked it firmly behind him, feeling a clutch of sadness as I watched him leave. It had barely been a day since I had last seen Raoul. For the last two weeks we had been together endlessly, though at times avoided one another as much as possible. Somewhere along the way he had stopped fighting. Somewhere and somehow he had fallen in love with me.

I still didn't think it was possible. The man I had dreamed of for so long had finally told me that he loved me, and now we were separated. I felt incomplete without him. I was not the only woman in the house in less than an exuberant mood either.

I could tell Eva missed Erik, and I knew for certain that Rebbecca felt rather detached without Zachary. I longed for Raoul's bed, and I had ended up sleeping between Charlotte and Amber the night before. Rebbecca had crawled into bed with her sister. The only ones who had slept alone were Dominick and Stephan, and one of them had snored rather loudly.

London's favorite rake, indeed! He kept me up half the night, true, but for entirely different reasons than so many women before me.

- -

True to his word, Dom's promised footmen arrived and sat obediently at their stations near the front and back doors. Charlotte and Amber tormented the one at the back door with typical nine year old enthusiasm, and his annoyed tone could be heard occasionally when they were doing something particularly mischievous.

I was sitting in the window seat in Eva's bedroom while she nursed Stephan, trying to avoid blatantly staring at her bared breast and noticing Rebbecca was doing the same.

"What is the good part?" Rebbecca blurted out.

Stephan came unlatched from his meal and gave out a lusty cry that startled us all. Eva blinked once, then covered herself with a small blanked once she realized both of us were staring.

"The...ah...what?" she asked her sister carefully.

"Well...," she paused, and I had my first glimpse of how much a redhead could blush, "Zachary promised there is a good part."

"Oh, dear Lord," Eva whispered, her own face coloring as she occupied herself with straightening the already straight blanket. "Rebbecca..."

"The good part is very good," I said unabashedly. "I myself cannot wait to experience it again."

"Lacey!" Eva said, covering her mouth with one hand. "How would you know such a thing?"

I shrugged, and turned to my friend who had always been frank with me, and I with her. Rebbecca and I had an odd relationship. We'd endured the very pit of hell together, and even now struggled to forget the remainder of the past. For the most part I was successful, but I knew there was still a great amount of darkness in her. Also, a large quantity of anger, and a certain amount of fear that I hoped she would soon overcome.

Unlike her, I had become willing to explore my urges to be intimate with Raoul. But I had not been in Salpetriere nearly as long, and I had not been the wife of Victor Clarke. It was strange really, that Victor himself had never raped us.

He used us. He experiment on us, and he was very cruel. Victor allowed and encouraged the guards to do as they pleased to our helpless bodies, though he watched with a cruel sneer on his thin lips and a sick gleam in his eye. But our beds had been next to each other, and we had felt the other's pain so thick that nothing could cause us to not be honest with one another. And I wanted her to experience this so called 'good part'. Rebbecca deserved to know the gentleness of a man's touch, as I had with Raoul.

"My marriage has not been...well...Zachary and I have not..."

"Oh," Eva and I said at once, then shared a look.

"He is greatly frustrated," she whispered, staring down at her hands. "But I don't know if I can allow him to see me. Eva this will sound so terrible, but my body has scars."

"I know," Eva said softly. "I cared for you, remember?"

Rebbecca nodded shortly, but didn't look up at her sister. "I used to be so pretty, but that isn't it. He has his own scars. There are other reasons why I can't give myself to him completely," she continued in a low voice that broke my heart. "I could not tolerate it if he...remembered you..."

"Rebbecca, no!" Eva exclaimed, jostling Stephan when she moved across the room.

I turned my attention outside to the street and heard her comfort her sister, telling her a few bitter truths about how she remembered her relationship with Zachary.

"I care for him, Rebbecca. He's a good man, and impossible not to like. But I knew that we were never right for one another. And he knew it too," she said with conviction.

"But he showed you the good part, didn't he?" Rebbecca responded woefully. "I don't understand what could be so good about it! But sometimes...sometimes it does feel almost good. Then he stops!"

"Then he didn't do it long enough," Eva said firmly, then I heard her gasp as she realized what she had said.

"And how long does it take?" I asked cheekily.

"It depends on the man!" she retorted, then bemoaned her answer again. "Erik will kill me for saying this."

"Then you really should tell us," I said gravely, "if the secret is that precious."

Her glance did nothing to deter my interest, and I waited with impatience for her to tell something naughty about Erik. How I would use it to torment him if I could!

"Rebbecca, you don't always have to let Zachary take control. Sometimes, if it might help you, then you can make him do as _you_ please."

Oh, this was definitely good! A quick glance revealed both of their faces were red, but Eva definitely had Rebbecca's attention. And mine.

"How?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Eva jerked around, as if realizing it was not one but two younger girls she was corrupting. "Oh! I...ah...suppose you could tell him where to go, what to do. How long to do it," she mumbled, "and what to do it to."

"It?" Rebbecca asked, fascinated.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes! You're never going to get to the good part if you don't let the man do what he needs to!" I griped impatiently. "Rebbecca, trust me, you don't want to miss it. If he does it right, then you will feel as if you've exploded into a million pieces and the stars won't even seem that high to you. Your body will never feel something so wonderful until he does it to you again, and the only thing I can think that would be better would be to make him feel the exactly same way!"

They both stared at me until I turned my vacant gaze back outside, already dreaming of the look of pleasure on Raoul's face when we made love the first time.

"I had no idea things went that far in his study," Rebbecca whispered.

"Neither does Erik, and it would be best if he didn't find out," Eva replied with a chuckle.

A movement below caught my eyes, and at once I realized that a man was staring at me from the street. I moved from the window seat, perturbed at being studied without my knowledge and proceeded to do the exact same thing to him from behind a valance.

"What is it?" Eva asked.

"There's someone down there staring at the house," I said quietly. "A man."

In a flash they were both at my back, peeking out the side of the window just as I was doing. We watched him for several moments, a tall thin man wearing a hat that shadowed his features. Yet I could feel his gaze, and it made me feel queer inside.

"Oh my God," Rebbecca whimpered, and I noticed her hand had begun to tremble. "It's him. It's Victor!"

"No," Eva breathed.

"Yes," I whispered, seeing his hat finally come off his head, then we stared at his thinning hair. "It is Victor. The devil has found a way to me after all."

"The girls," Rebbecca said sharply. "Where are the girls?"

Eva cried out and rushed to the bassinet to lay Stephan down, and we all flew down the stairs, catching Amber and Charlotte as they were about to run from the parlor to the back door. Eva shooed them upstairs with instructions to take a nap, but not before kissing them numerous times and making them promise not to come down for any reason.

"What do we do?" she asked, wringing her hands. "Oh, I wish Lord Blackmore had not left us! I wish Erik was here!"

"The footmen!" I nearly shouted, then rushed to the front door and scratched quickly to alert him.

"Do you need something?" he asked through the door.

"Return to Clandon House and fetch Lord Blackmore at once!" I said imperiously. "Tell him it is an emergency!"

"Yes, my lady!" he said, then I watched through the lace curtains as he hastened down the sidewalk.

"Why did you do that! Now who will protect us?" Eva whispered sharply.

"We have another footman," Rebbecca reminded her, but she was pale and shaking.

"Blaise had accomplices in Paris three years ago. Do you not remember the man that chased me from my home?" Eva demanded. "What makes you think one footman is going to stop him? No! We have to do something! I will not let him near my children!"

"Us?" I gulped, a pulse of excitement and fear spearing through me. "What can we do?"

Rebbecca gave a primitive cry of happiness and pulled the bat from her skirt with a look of triumph. "I'll hit him with this!"

"Sure, like he's going to let you get close enough!" I said sarcastically. "Maybe he'll be nice and stand still for you."

"Well we can't do nothing!" she said defiantly.

A loud commotion at the back of the house startled us. I turned to Eva, my heart pounding in fear. "Did we remember to lock the back door after the girls came in?" I asked in a frightened whisper.

"Oh God, I don't remember," she replied, horrified. We could hear Victor approaching the steps, and any moment I knew those icy blue eyes would meet mine. If I looked into them I would be forever lost.

There was only one thing to do.

"Eva, you must be our decoy if he makes it through the door," I whispered. "If Rebbecca or I look in his eyes, we'll be frozen with fear."

Rebbecca nodded quickly, repositioning the bat in her hands. "When he opens the door, I'll hit him."

"Me too," I said, feeling myself become incensed as I thought of all that I had suffered because of this man. I looked around for a weapon, and hefted a brass candlestick. "This will work."

Eva looked positively frightened, and the noise at the back door grew louder. It sounded like there were two bulls wrestling back there.

"Hurry! We may need to hit another one!" I said quickly, then watched as Eva bravely positioned herself in the entryway.

The entryway had an alcove behind the door where I hid, and Rebbecca was on the other side, partially hidden by a wall. She would be allowed great swing room, if only she could do it and find the courage to hit him. If she didn't, then my attack would likely not do anything, and Eva would be absolutely defenseless.

Still, it was too late to do anything else now, because Victor was turning the handle and inching the door open cautiously.

"Hello, Victor," Eva whispered just as he stepped past the door.

His own greeting was lost as Rebbecca gave a fierce battle cry and let the bat sail through the air with all her might. I watched his head snap to the side, and he staggered on his feet like a drunkard.

"Now, Lacey!" Rebbecca shouted.

I lifted the candlestick high over my head and brought it down over the top of his bald spot. The perfect target, and my aim was true. Immediately he went to his knees, and in his last moments of consciousness I wondered if he heard his wife lift the bat again, and strike him with wild abandon.

- -

"Jesus," Dom whispered, staring down at the Victor.

Still alive, but not terribly happy, Victor groaned. Rebbecca still held the bloody bat in her hands, and from the look on her face I knew that at last her demons would be gone. _This_ was her demon. This monster who was her husband, and at last she had defeated him. The peaceful expression told me she was finally realizing that monsters were only real if you believed them to be, and she no longer believed this one could hurt her.

"There's another one in the back," Eva said wearily. "Your footman did a fine job of capturing him. This was a rental house though, and everything will need to be replaced at the back door. Including the back door."

With a sound of dismay, she headed upstairs to check on the children.

"I am so sorry, ladies," Dom said softly. "I had no idea what sort of trouble you were in here. I never would have left you if I had known."

Dom's breathing had finally calmed from his reckless ride down the street. His large bay stallion was nearly standing in the townhouse with us because Dom had ridden him right up to the door in his haste to get here. I couldn't believe what we had done. Incredibly stupid thing to do, with two little girls in the house and a baby, but we had been left with little choice.

"Will there be someone to take him to jail?" I asked quietly, not wanting to look at him another moment. My God, he was bleeding quite badly from his head. And I felt not one ounce of compassion or pity. It was with some shock to realize I wanted to hit him again, and again.

"The footman who came rushing to the house was sent on to the precinct to fetch one," Dom promised. "And you ladies will all be going with me to Clandon House immediately."

Neither of us argued, having our fill of feminine independence for one day. My hands had not stopped shaking, and I knew I would never forget the terror that we had survived today. I found great irony in all that I had survived, despite not being terribly strong or brave. This was just another thing for me to remember that I had overcome, and it gave me a wonderful sense of satisfaction to know that I had done this with the help of two other women, and no man.

I loved Raoul, and I would always be grateful for his protection, but there had been nothing more gratifying than cracking Victor over the head with the candlestick. Feeling a new surge of vengeance, I bent down and delved my hand beneath his coat until it contacted the thinner surface of his white linen shirt.

"What are you doing?" Rebbecca asked suspiciously.

I pulled an inch of nipple between my thumb and index finger and twisted as hard as I could. Victor immediately made it well known with a loud yelp how much it hurt, and I snatched my hand back without releasing the grip on his flesh.

"You bitch!"

He struggled to his feet as I backed away, heaving and blowing, and in obvious pain.

"You were foolish to come here, Victor," Rebbecca said calmly. "I shot you once, remember? I would gladly do so again."

"Ah, Rebbecca," he sneered with blood trailing down his face. "And I made you pay for that. You shall pay for this as well."

"I suggest you sit down," Dom stated, then shoved him outside first, startling the horse all the way down to the street. "The magistrate will be eager to hear your tale."

"I did nothing wrong," he insisted. "I merely walked through the door!"

"And right into a trap!" I called down. "Did you like our greeting? I would like to see how you fare in prison, Victor! Perhaps not nearly so well as we did!"

He slumped on the sidewalk, his breathing hard. I couldn't tell whether or not he was registering anything anymore, as he looked rather dazed.

"Perhaps you should all wait inside until the magistrate comes," Dom said gently.

"And miss seeing him in chains? Never!" Rebbecca crowed.

Then Victor made a noise unlike any I had heard since Salpetriere. A noise of desperation and fear, and wild uncertainty. Dom turned and we watched Victor struggle again to his feet, this time holding a small caliber pistol in his hands.

"Get _down_!" Dom roared, shoving Rebbecca and I at the same time. I saw Victor's hand waver between us all, as if unsure whom he wanted to shoot first. Fear climbed through me, and I closed my eyes and imagined Raoul's face.

The softest breeze caressed my skin, and I remembered every moment we had ever shared and I knew that there had not been nearly enough.

The echo of a two gunshots penetrated my mind, but all I could see was Raoul. My love. And oddly, I could see James too. A heavy weight sank into my stomach, and I could not get the thought out of my mind that if I died it would destroy Raoul.

I could not die and leave him alone again!

Gurgling noises made me open my eyes, and I first looked to Rebbecca who was staring in horror at something. I turned to see Victor choking on his own blood. Dom stood over him holding his own gun and an expression I had never seen on a man's face before: the expression of a man who had just killed another man.

It seemed Victor was well and truly dead this time, and now there would never be any reason to fear his return. He died before our very eyes, and in the end he still had not inspired any pity.

- -

Ah, my lovelies, this story is almost over. Don't forget to review! A special thanks to my curious beta rappleyea, who is probably looking through my crazy ramblings for my E/C because now she knows the phantomgirls password...


	62. A Taste

**Raoul**

From the time Carolina made her confession until we returned to Gravesend early Friday morning with the three captives, I felt dead inside. For the two men, they were simply lucky Erik and I hadn't killed them. Only their stupidity kept them alive, and it became rather obvious that neither one of them were half as cunning as the older woman, or as cruel.

Soboul had been tied up in the extra bedroom and had looked almost relieved to see me rather than Erik. Apparently it had been his bank account that had kept the Montausiers financed. When he married Lacey, he had inherited more money than Thomas, even though Thomas had assumed the title. That made me feel a little more amiable towards Charles, though he should have done more to ensure the security of his daughter in the event of his death. In the few years since his passing, Carolina and Thomas had managed to spend every franc of their fortune, and had set their sights on the mountain of money that their 'son' was sitting on.

Soboul had planned to leave for destinations unknown without the weight of his treacherous family once their latest con had been exposed, but Carolina had not been about to lose the money. He was just fortunate that they had let him live, though once they had transferred the money or somehow forced it out of him I doubted that they would have kept him around for long. I gathered that the plot to fleece Lady Wakefield had been his plan to stave off the leeches that attached themselves to him when he began living in London.

"They really would have saved me a headache if they'd simply killed him," I said to Erik.

He didn't respond. In his eyes I could see my own fear, and I was gripped with the same terror. He had to know that I'd thought the same of him once. That he would hurt Christine. That he was a beast who dwelled in darkness and fed on the souls of innocents like her. I had long since revised my opinion of him, and I am ashamed that I ever depicted him in that light simply because of his appearance. But this time there was a real monster out there - Victor Clarke. And he was just stupid enough to go after Rebbecca. Right now I had to believe that Dom was protecting them. It was the only hope that I had left. If anything happened to Lacey, or Charlotte, or any of them, I knew that when Erik killed me I would welcome it.

Which is why I was praying very hard that my faith in Dom was justified. He was a gentleman, true. The same qualities I found reassuring in him were the ones that Erik detested, but as a gentleman he would know how to fight. He would defend them, and I knew from conversations with him he was deadly accurate with a gun.

I said all of this to Erik, but neither one of us took any comfort in hearing it.

"If anything has happened to my wife," Erik whispered in a hollow tone. "To my children..."

"Nothing has," I said quietly, but he looked away as we drew the horses to a stop. He watched with narrowed eyes as a Bow Street Runner descended on the carriage like a hapless vulture and peered inside where our three reluctant passengers were seated.

"I thought there were four of them," he called out.

"Just the three," I called back.

Zachary came striding up from the dock then, and without a word he knocked the Runner aside effortlessly and started dragging people out of the carriage, Carolina first, then Thomas, then Soboul. He shook the carriage, startling both the driver and the horses and turned back to us.

"Where is he?" Zachary shouted. "Where is that weaselly little bastard?"

I cleared my throat roughly and glanced at Erik. Without dismounting I calmly told him what had happened, and in the next moment Zachary had flipped the carriage to the side, breaking the whiffletree from the carriage and releasing the beasts from their burden. The crack of wood startled the two horses pulling, and they bolted away with the reins dragging and a driver shouting curses as he was drug through the mud.

Zachary reached down and grabbed Soboul by the throat, yanking him to his feet and bringing his face within an inch of his own.

"If anything happens to my wife, you will be the first to die," he said wrathfully, then tossed him aside with nothing more than a slight movement of his hand. He stared down at Carolina and Thomas, and I saw the first moments of fear in her eyes. "I've never hit a woman before, but I will do much worse to you if my wife is not alive and well. I hope you understand."

"You're mad," she whispered.

"I'm nothing right now," he replied. "But my life will hold no meaning if she is gone. You'd best hope that she is smiling still from my last kiss, or I will take your last breath."

I knew that he meant it. And it satisfied me to know that Carolina knew it too.

"Good, you found them," the magistrate said finally arriving at the scene. He made a motion for two Runners to escort the prisoners aboard his ship. "The farther we traveled down river the less likely it seemed we would find them. We turned back in the night, but I sent two men on to the Channel just in case." He stared after the three of them curiously. "What should I charge the other two with?"

"Conspiracy to commit a crime," I offered.

"Neglecting their charge," Zachary put in.

"Stupidity," Erik muttered.

- -

We decided the fastest way back was by taking the boat, though it would seem slower than riding the twenty some odd miles to London. The breakneck speed of horses was no match for the efficiency of a vessel that would not tire and ran no risk of injuring itself without a way to continue. Erik paced the length of the stern and Zachary stalked the bow. I was caught in the middle like a depressed, maudlin prisoner, wondering why I had not told Lacey days earlier that I loved her and wanted to marry her. I could not imagine that fate would be so cruel to take her away so soon after I had been awakened to her precious charms.

I could not imagine spending my life without her now. I knew I would be happy with Lacey. There was no way possible for me not to be, because that was the radiance that Lacey emitted, no matter what circumstance, no matter what darkness.

If Victor had hurt her, I would likely never spend a free moment in her arms again. I wondered briefly if it was against the law to kill a criminal, but decided that I did not care. Without Lacey then I would never be free again anyway. I thought of James and Charlotte, but I could not dwell on thoughts of my children while murder was in my heart.

- -

That same feeling of dread followed us until we arrived at Erik's town house at dusk on Friday night. I rushed straight up the steps from the hired carriage and pounded on the locked door, but Erik's low voice calling my name caused me to turn. In the fading light I could see stains on the sidewalk and steps. Dark stains, of a coagulated fluid that made my heart stop.

"Blood," Erik choked out, then glanced up at the sky with a lost expression.

"No," I whispered, ice flowing through my body. Oh God, which one?

Charlotte? Lacey? Amber? My stomach turned at the thought of any of them coming to harm, and revolted more when I wondered if it had possibly been more that just one.

Zachary stepped out of the carriage with a whiter face than I would have thought possible and knelt down, almost touching the dark spots before changing his mind.

Behind me I heard the door open, and I turned hopefully to see a man step out. Erik started up the steps with a growl, but I pulled him back before he could tear the man into pieces. I recognized him as a footman at Clandon House, but he had about three seconds to explain himself before I beat him myself.

"Monsieur de Chagny?" the man began hesitantly.

He glanced nervously at Erik first, but walked toward us. "Lord Blackmore wanted me to assure you that everyone is fine, and they all went to Clandon House yesterday afternoon. There was an incident."

"An incident?" Erik echoed dangerously.

The footman nodded vigorously, "Lord Blackmore was very brave. He shot one man, and I myself apprehended the other. Though," he hesitated and looked at Erik's chin, "I do apologize for the destruction to your rental property. It was not my intention to be so violent."

"Whose blood is this?" Erik demanded, not caring one whit about the townhouse.

"I believe his name was Victor something," the man replied.

Erik's sigh of relief was temporary – as was mine.

"The ladies apprehended him-"

"What!" Erik and I exploded simultaneously.

The poor man was startled back to the door, and stammered out a story that made Erik's face turn red with fury, but made a trickle of amusement suddenly enter my nearly dead heart. I thought I even heard Zachary chuckle at the image of Rebbecca wielding her bloody little bat.

"This is not amusing, de Chagny!" Erik thundered.

"No," I agreed. "But you can calm down now. They're all fine."

Erik let out a harsh exhale that did nothing to stop the sudden trembling that took over his entire body. I almost thought he would collapse there on that bloody sidewalk, but he shook it off with clenched fists and a hard expression in his eyes.

"Where is my wife?" he growled.

"And mine," Zachary added impatiently.

I felt left out, so I put in, "And my fiancee?"

"They're all at Lord Blackmore's betrothal ball," the man said nervously.

Erik and Zachary swung around on me with murderous expressions, and it was then that I truly feared for my life. I knew neither of them were particularly pleased about another ball, but Erik and Zachary turned and stalked into the house, and I turned to the carriage so it could convey me to Clandon House.

It was time that I faced my prospective bride, and had a taste of what I'd been missing - Lacey.

- -

Hope you're liking it! Review, review, review!

THX to my ever wise betas! Any mistakes left in this chapter are most likely mine...


	63. A Phantom's Kiss

**...where my Phantom gets a surprise, as do my readers...**

Erik stalked the length of a corridor outside the ballroom, intensely scanning the crowd through the colonnade hoping for a glimpse of _her,_ Eva, who should not have come to a ridiculous ball in the first place. Was she dancing with someone right now? The thought leapt into his mind, and with mounting fury he darted back to the opening, glaring at the British society who were unaware of his raging thoughts. They passed by him, not noticing the tall, handsome man hovering around the perimeter of the ballroom. Nor did they notice his mask, the mask which now kept Erik from moving freely through the crowd in search of the woman he'd been frantic over ever since he'd left London.

He wondered if she was waiting for him in the shadows, thinking he might slip up next to her and together they could mock the notions of the self important people around them. Except Eva wouldn't mock them. She would listen as he did so, and give a wry smile.

Was this what she wanted? In the secrets of her heart, was this something she desired? She'd lived with de Chagny, so she must have become accustomed to this sort of thing.

It frustrated him that he did not know every single thing about her. He knew most things, but with his obsessive mind he wanted to know even the most mundane things that she had done before they had met.

The sound of someone behind him did not register at first, but then he detected a very distinctive female voice, complaining to herself that she was late.

A half second later she had slammed into his back with surprising force, and Erik grunted as he stumbled forward. His hand automatically reached for the mask to ensure it hadn't budged, rather than catching himself before he hit the wall.

"OH! I'm so sorry, Sir!" the woman cried.

Christ, an _English _female, as if things couldn't get worse. He turned with a scowl, then his eyes widened at the statuesque, beautiful woman standing in front of him in a dark blue gown.

"I'm so sorry!" she said again, laying her hand on his arm. "Have I hurt you?"

"No," he wheezed, struggling to regain air in his lungs from the impact.

"Forgive me, I'm terribly clumsy!"

"Indeed."

"Oh," she said in a dismayed tone. "Another Frenchman. You seem to be getting rather thick around here!"

"I beg your pardon?"

She began to squint at him, then stepped closer. "Egads! Are you wearing a mask?" she demanded.

Taken aback, Erik's mouth fell open.

"Drat! Lord Blackmore said nothing about this being a masquerade," she muttered, then began digging through her reticule. "I always carry one just in case, but it doesn't match my dress."

Erik watched her pilfer through her things, until she thrust a rather thick set of spectacles into his hands.

"Here. Hold these. And don't give them back to me!"

"I beg your pardon?" he repeated, staring at the strange creature who obviously didn't realize she was in danger. Well, not in danger now. But once long ago when he was younger, if he'd found himself alone with a beautiful woman who paid no attention to his mask, she would definitely have been in trouble.

"I'll be tempted to wear them," she said, distracted by whatever she was looking for. "Here. Hold this too. But give that back when I ask for it."

"Of course," he mumbled, staring with red cheeks as a half eaten scone was thrust into his hands. The woman's face took on a triumphant glow.

"I have it!"

Her hand came out of the reticule, and she waved a small demi mask made of orange silk in the air like a flag.

"Now! It won't match, but at least I won't be the only one without a mask." She put it on, and Erik stared at her with one corner of his mouth turning up reluctantly.

"Madame, this is not a masquerade," he said, handing her items back to her.

"It's not?"

"No."

"Then why are you wearing a mask?"

"Because it is preferable to my face," he muttered.

"Oh. Well...my name is Lady Emma Wakefield. Are you going into the ballroom? I hate going in alone. You'd be doing me a great favor if you accompanied me," she said, puzzled when he began to shake his head. Emma wondered why on earth he would think a mask would make him more handsome. Although it was very striking, she would much rather be looking at both sides of his face. Then again, how many men did she know that did something simply because they wanted to? Emma decided she liked this strange, quiet man who had said nothing when her scone left crumbs on his overcoat and wore a mask when no one else was. A little shiver of excitement went through her as she realized that she, Emma The Spinster, was alone with a handsome foreign man that looked a little bit dangerous. Well, perhaps quite a bit dangerous was a more correct phrase.

Erik repressed a groan, wondering how he had the misfortune to be cornered by such an odd Englishwoman when all he wanted was to find his wife.

"You aren't leaving, are you?" she demanded, noticing he was looking about desperately for an exit.

"Yes," he said emphatically. "I have to find my -"

"You can't leave!"

He eyed her suspiciously. "Your very reputation would be irreparably harmed if you were to stay here. I advise you to return to the party."

"Ha! Reputation!" she laughed loudly. "Apparently you have never heard of my reputation!"

"Madame-"

"And I have yet to make an appearance," she continued, ignoring his unease. "I know what those vultures have been saying about me."

"My lady -" he tried again, only to find her shoving her spectacles on _over_ her mask. The sight made him stop and simply stare, and he decided she was the madder of the two of them.

"Your mask is much nicer than mine," she said with a smile. "Is it leather?"

"Yes," he mumbled, glancing away embarrassed. "Pardon me. I was just looking for-"

"Monsieur Chartraine!"

He turned and felt immense relief when he spotted Lord Blackmore striding toward them. "Madame Chartraine is upstairs with the children," he informed him, then glanced pointedly at Emma. "Lady Wakefield," he murmured with a polite bow. "I was worried that you might not make an appearance."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Ah, your mask," he said with a grimace. "is not exactly a disguise. Only you would combine orange and blue with such good taste, my love."

"And only you would invite me to a ball without telling me it was a masquerade," she retorted, removing her glasses and the mask so that she could glare at him.

"It isn't a masquerade," Erik repeated impatiently.

Dom glanced cautiously at Erik, then back at Emma. "If you want a masquerade, then you shall have it. Shall I retrieve my mask?"

Emma glowered at him. "I heard you have quite a collection, Lord Blackmore!"

Dom's mouth fell open. "Where in God's name did you hear about that?"

"From all the women you seduced! You collected them like trophies," she snapped.

"And this is your betrothed?" Erik muttered.

"What?" Emma gasped.

Dom cursed loudly, and turned to Erik. "I thought you were looking for Madame Chartraine."

"I am!"

"I am not your betrothed!" Emma stated with conviction.

"Yes you are," Dom replied smoothly. "Or you will be in about three minutes when I make the announcement."

"No!"

"Emma-"

"I will not marry you!" she cried, striking at his shoulder. "How dare you? I heard you spent the night alone with three beautiful women just on Wednesday!"

Erik growled, knowing precisely which three women she was referring to.

"I was charged to protect them!" Dom protested.

"Who protected them from you?" she fumed, hitting him again just for pure pleasure.

"Do you have spies everywhere?" he exclaimed, looking around the room with suspicion. "How in God's name could you possibly know about that anyway?"

"I'm a woman! I know everything!"

"God above," Erik grumbled, as he tried to step past them.

"No! You said you wouldn't leave me!" Emma said, snatching him backwards by his coat.

Erik's surprise was enormous. An Englishwoman grabbing The Phantom by the coat as if he were a rag doll! It was so absurd he almost laughed, but instead he was nearly strangled by the aforementioned Englishwoman as she pulled him toward her.

"Madame, release me. I did _not_ say that I would not leave, and I am sure Lord Blackmore-"

"I will not consent to marrying him," she whispered through clenched teeth. "He's kissed far too many women, and I demand a faithful husband!"

Dom rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated growl. "You will marry me, Emma. There will be a scandal if you don't. And I love you – above all."

"There's already a scandal! And love! What do you know about love? How many women have heard those words from your lips?"

"Only one, and that is you," he answered patiently.

She stared at him with a disbelieving expression, and he touched the edge of her chin.

"What must I say to you? Would you like my oath in blood? Or is it merely my word you question?"

Her gaze softened, and she released Erik's coat, feeling guilty. "If you give your word then I must believe you," she replied joylessly. "But I still won't marry you."

"Emma," Dom said her name in growing frustration, "you will marry me. My mother is beside herself with happiness."

"You told your mother?" she screeched.

"I did. I'm serious, Emma. I love you. I want to marry you," he whispered, taking her by the shoulders. "I even bought you a ring."

"A-a ring?" she echoed.

Dom removed a box from his coat and opened it to reveal a rather interesting ring set with amethysts, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. "Because you wear every color, and often at the same time," he murmured.

"Dom," she breathed, her eyes drawn to it, then to his eyes.

"Marry me," he said simply.

Erik, for all his grumbling and panic to find Eva, could not look away. He completely forgot to be angry with Dom for leaving his wife and children, or even that he wore a mask and was once again a voyeur whose interest was noticeable this time because he wasn't hiding behind a wall.

"I want to kiss someone else," Emma announced suddenly.

Both men's eyes widened.

"You what?" Erik asked before he could stop himself.

She turned and arched her brows at him. "I've been kissed by one man in my entire life," she declared, jerking her thumb toward Dom for emphasis. "He's kissed hundreds. Thousands!"

"Thousands!" Dom laughed nervously. "That's a little high. Even a hundred is too high-"

"Many women," she corrected with a saturnine smile. "I've only kissed him. I want to kiss someone else."

"Eh...alright," Erik said, inching backward. "Must find my wife."

"Wait!" she exclaimed, latching on to his coat once more.

"No," Erik said quickly. "I leave you in good hands."

"I won't marry him unless you agree to kiss me," Emma declared.

"What?" Erik asked hoarsely.

"Kiss me, and I'll marry him," she said, trying to say it in a way he would understand.

"NO! I'm already married!" Erik exploded.

"So?"

"SO?" both men repeated in a near roar. Dom grabbed Emma by the shoulders and spun her around. "What in the hell do you mean by that?"

"One kiss," she said firmly. "That ought to even the odds a little!"

"No," Dom growled, then proceeded to kiss her himself.

But Emma was quick – she knew what she wanted – and convention had never stopped her before. She wrenched herself free of Dom and planted a kiss fully on Erik's slightly open mouth.

For a moment he was too stunned to do anything but to be grateful that she was too naïve for tongue kisses, then the little chit did just that, and he felt her breath catch as she tried to put her arms around his neck and kiss him deeper.

She kissed him once more before he pushed her away from him with a mixture of confusion and oddly, pride.

"Why the hell did you kiss me?" he demanded. "Why me?"

She shrugged one shoulder, her eyes slightly glazed. "You're handsomer than he is," she whispered, and stared at him with pure adulation. "That was nice. Thank you."

"Er...thank you...?" Erik responded. He didn't glance at Lord Blackmore as he finally beat a hasty retreat from the room. Before he left, he heard Emma's mad consent to marry the future Earl of Sandwich, and decided it was high time that he located his wife.

- -

Once out of sight of the guests, Erik fairly sprinted up the stairs to the bedrooms. When he finally managed to find the right room, he burst through the door and gathered Eva into his arms, swinging her around the room in his joy at finding her safe.

"I love you," he said fiercely, and pressed his mouth on hers, the only woman he ever wanted or needed to kiss.

"I love you," she replied breathlessly.

Erik had not rid himself of the smile by the time he reached his wife's room. It was impossible really, though a bit of guilt plagued him. It was simply that nothing like that had ever happened to him before. Erik! The ugly creature who had been unloved his entire life until Eva and the rest of his new family had entered his life.

"Goodness – Erik! Why are you smiling?" Eva asked once he'd set her back down.

Her husband was often peculiar, but she couldn't imagine what had made him this exuberant. If Phantoms could glow, this one certainly was right now.

"What's gotten into you?"

"You," he whispered, putting his forehead against hers. "My love. The only woman for me."

"Well, I should hope so!"

"A girl just kissed me," he said casually.

"A – what!" she exclaimed, pushing away so she could stare into his eyes. He often said strange things, but he seemed perfectly serious this time.

"A girl," he repeated. "Lord Blackmore's betrothed."

"Kissed you?" she demanded. "Why?"

"I – well – she said because I was handsome," he admitted with a snort. "Then he -"

"Erik!"

His wife's tone caused his mood to deflate, and he realized what he'd been doing - confessing to his wife. His wife! "I'm sorry," he said sheepishly. "No one's ever said I was handsome."

"I tell you that all the time," Eva replied tartly.

"Well, you're my wife. That is your duty," he said stoically. "But never a stranger. Especially not a strange woman, though she was one of the strangest women I've ever met."

Eva stared at her husband, and realized that she couldn't kill that light in his eyes. He looked happy, and shocked, and she knew that so few times had anything good happened to him outside of their marriage. He could never be recognized for his writing or composing, or for the architectural designs he sent off to far away places. His sole accomplishment was being married and having children, though his novels were successful in every place where they were sold.

Still, he was only doing half of what he could have achieved, and she knew that with his brilliant mind he could have done anything he wanted.

If one strange girl kissing him had given him such a glow, who was she to begrudge him his moment of acceptance? Besides, there was no reason for her to fear Erik betraying her. The love and worry was evident on his face, and she found herself wanting to ease that niggle of fear in his mind.

"So long as it was just one kiss," she finally said, but arched her brow. "And as long as it never occurs again."

"It won't," he promised, then pulled her in his arms and kissed her thoroughly. "You are the only woman for me, Evangeline. You know that. God I was...I was so afraid something had happened to you. I'm never letting you out of my sight again."

Eva closed her eyes and sank into the warm, safe embrace of her husband. "That sounds perfectly alright to me, Erik."

"May I take you to bed?" he whispered, nuzzling her neck. "I will spend the rest of the night making us both forget the horror of the last two days. And I will let you tell me in the morning why you were stupid enough...," he tightened his arms around her and took a deep breath to control his anger, "...to lay a trap for Victor. But for tonight, I just want to make love to you."

"Another sound plan," she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck. "And I will obliterate the memory of your recent kiss with one or two of my own."

He smiled down at her and puckered his lips, only to have his wife arch a brow at him and push him boldly toward the bed.

"Not there, my love," she whispered with a throaty little moan. "This is a kiss of an entirely different sort."

Erik lay back on the bed, willing and more excited by his little wife than by any other woman in the world. And forget? Yes, Erik did forget about the strange woman who had kissed him and called him handsome.

At least for the rest of the night, and well into the following morning.


	64. A Soul of Sun

**...to prevent a filler, I give you Raoul, once more...**

**Raoul**

I devoured her. Thinking that it should be a crime for her to wear red, in the strictest sense of the law, I could not pull my eyes from her face or her body.

To call Lacey a beauty did not begin to do her justice. This woman of the sun had turned from a classically pretty, golden haired madonna to a breathtaking vixen. The moment I entered the room and spotted her, I could tell she was looking for me. Her eyes scanned every door and yet somehow she had overlooked me in her rather desperate search.

Our eyes finally met, and I could tell she was as breathless as I. Ignoring good manners and social niceties, I strolled through the crush of dancers to go directly to her. Our eyes never left one another's, and I knew that I had never loved like this before because I had never been loved like this. Only and always would it be Lacey, with her amazing smile and her odd combination of charms.

"Raoul," she murmured as I took her hand.

"Lacey," I returned with just as much ardor.

"I was afraid you wouldn't make it."

"And I was afraid of other things," I said quietly, "but it would seem that you are not as helpless as I had originally thought."

She blushed and looked away, but I could tell she was pleased. "I had some help. Erik will no doubt be miffed that three women captured his prey."

"Not only his," I corrected, easing her smoothly into a waltz. "And I would never tell Erik you labeled him as _miffed_. I highly doubt he would allow it."

Her only response was a smile, and we each became lost in the dance and our embrace. I knew which dance with me stood out in her mind more than any other, but this one would remain vividly in my mind forever: the way she smelled, the glint of candlelight shining off her hair, the way her dress clung to every curve on her body and how my hands itched to follow those curves. Her blue eyes never left mine, and by the end of the dance there was nothing left to say except, "Come with me."

"Yes," she answered instantly.

The night spoke of magic and romance, and the promise of love. Through endless hallways past narrow escapes of contact with other guests, I led her to my bedchamber. I didn't bother lighting the lamp just yet. The moon was full and shone brightly through the window, and my first concern was that no one would miss us and come looking for us in here.

"I was worried about you, Lacey," I said softly.

"As you should have been," she replied, her eyes haunted for several moments. "I thought for certain Victor was going to shoot me. And I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. Or little James," she added thoughtfully.

"I'll never leave you, Lacey. And I won't allow you to leave me," I promised solemnly, glad that she had also thought of the child who I hoped would become her son. "Unless that is something you ever want, of course."

"I will never want that," she murmured. "Not when I've waited this long."

Her eyes told me the story of her love, and she seemed a bit embarrassed about her feelings. She ducked her head slightly, and I took the opportunity to pull her against me and breathe in the floral scent of her hair.

"I was a foolish man, Lacey. I want to spend the rest of my life making you see how sorry I am."

"No," Lacey said firmly, then tilted her head back to search my eyes. "Just love me, Raoul. Just love me."

"I do love you."

I lowered my head to kiss her and filled my hands with red silk and warm skin that was softer than the fabric covering it. I felt the hard lines of her corset, and while as a man I appreciated the beauty of it, I knew that she was probably in pain from wearing the tight thing.

"What color is it?" I had to know, then ran my fingers along the hardness of each stay. "Red?"

She nodded. "It matches the dress."

"You have no idea how much that excites me," I said, my voice thick with desire.

"Jacqueline recommended the dress."

That made me pause, and Lacey was regarding me with a curious smile.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Jacqueline said -"

"Please don't continue that sentence," I choked, feeling my ears turn red. By all accounts she already knew about the night I had ripped my lover's dress off, and she probably also knew that red was my favorite color on a woman. I just never expected Lacey to pull off something so daring. Yet she had, and better than anyone I'd ever seen.

"So, will you rip my gown off?" she taunted, a devilish gleam in her narrowed eyes.

"Do you want me to?"

"Well, it is a lovely dress," she remarked, but gave me a sultry look.

"One that you will never wear again," I said firmly. "Not in public anyway."

Lacey ran her hands up my chest, and slowly unwound my cravat. "In private?"

"Yes," I breathed, kissing the tips of her fingers when they rested against my lips. She jerked back slightly when I pulled one into my mouth, yet offered it again immediately with a hesitant smile.

"I do hope you brought me here for less than honorable intentions, Vicomte de Chagny," she whispered sensuously, "I've waited an awfully long time to see you naked."

I grinned at her tone, my little seductress making me smile and harden at the same time. I was delighted to find that there were certain sides to Lacey that would never desert her. Well, almost never. I could only hope that in the coming...ahem...moments, the last thing on her mind would be laughter.

I obliged her by slowly removing my coat and overcoat, yet she clucked her tongue at me like a recalcitrant governess. "I imagined you a little more naked, actually," she said with a feigned sigh.

"What about you?" I questioned, putting my arms around her back and slipping my fingers through a seam of her dress. With one firm jerk I heard fabric rip. Lacey's eyes only batted coyly instead of widening as I expected.

"Down to your corset, my lady," I commanded with a stern expression. "Then I am required to ask you a question and you simply must reply before any more clothing is discarded."

Lacey hugged me hard, and with an expression of pure joy she began tugging at her gloves and sleeves until she was standing before me in the exquisite black and red corset and stockings that drew my eyes up to her shapely hips. The blood rushed from my head as I held her close and kissed her. Lacey's hands roamed over me in a wonderful journey, unbuttoning my shirt then caressing my side with no hint of fear or shyness.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"What about Jac-"

"Most beautiful," I interrupted with a slow kiss. "Never doubt that Lacey. Never doubt my devotion."

"May I occasionally question your sanity?" she asked drolly.

"My dear, it is in question right now. I am mad for you," I whispered, and brushed one more kiss across her shoulder. I stopped kissing her and reached into my pocket for her ring. I stared into her eyes as I knelt, and without breaking the gaze that tore into my soul, I took her hand and kissed it.

"I wanted to wait, Lacey," I said nervously, wishing I could feel no fear. But I suspected that every man had that worry in his mind, even if he was as sure of being loved as I was. "Until we returned to Paris, and until you were free. But I find that while I can wait for us to wed, I cannot be without your touch for another moment. Still yet, I want to claim you as mine before I make love to you. Lacey, I wish to give you this ring and ask you to be my wife."

I could scarcely see her face in the shadowed room, but her hands tightened over mine so much that all did not feel lost. I felt her love for me with every breath, and hoped to return her obvious devotion for the rest of my life.

I heard the rustle of her scant clothing and felt her hand descend to my shoulder as she braced herself to kneel on the floor with me.

"You're supposed to remain standing," I reminded her.

She sniffled, and my eyes readjusted to her face in the light, finding it streaked with tears. "I feel silly up there by myself."

"Are you going to answer me?" I asked more calmly than I felt.

"Oh, Raoul! You already knew my answer, and it is yes!"

I was thrown backwards as she launched herself at me, and I tightened my fist around the ring that I had gone through hell to retrieve. Her kisses prevented me from immediately putting it on her hand, and soon I was lost at the slide of her tongue against mine.

"Get this corset off me," she whispered.

"With pleasure," I said gruffly, then rolled her to the floor and on her stomach. With a little diligence and not much patience I unlaced each stay and pried it from around her warm body. The low grunt of relief she gave made me angry, as did the red marks I could see all across her back through the chemise. "You never have to wear these things, Lacey. They can't be comfortable."

"They aren't!" she retorted, then sat up to grin at me. "But they push my bosom up, and how well I know you like that!"

I chuckled, then reached for her hand and slid the ring over her finger before kissing her possessively. "I love everything about you. Especially your bosom." She gasped as I cupped her breast, and groaned as I teased her nipple. Generous and warm, I knew that I would never tire of exploring her body. And I had yet to start. "But your bosom looks so much better without clothing."

"You've only seen one of my...my bosoms!"

This I had to smile at, because really, what else could I do? "Then show me the other one," I urged her, then did the same with my mouth against her throat. She tasted so sweet, and was so warm that I knew this was the moment in my life I'd been dying for - to connect with another soul endlessly, and never again to see the horizon of blackness that tormented me. "Show me what I've been dreaming of, Lacey," I whispered as I nipped at her ear.

"D-dreams?" she stammered.

"Oh, yes. Wicked dreams. Erik would kill me for the things I've dreamed of doing to you," I confessed with a dark smile.

Her chest rose and fell even harder as I seduced the sweet curve of her face with my lips, then returned my mouth to hers.

"I want all of you," I whispered, lifting the hem of her chemise then slipping it over her head. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open as I pushed her gently to the carpeted floor. At the first touch of my wet mouth to her hard nipple, Lacey's moan ripped through the room and forced me to clamp a hand over her lips.

"Shh! Do you want Erik to have cause to come in here?" I said sharply.

"Erik?" she replied dazedly. "No, not really."

"Then keep quiet," I said in a gentler tone, before returning my attention to the perfect breast that begged for me to kiss it again.

"Raoul! Oh!...That's...," she breathed harder and faster as I sucked more of her into my mouth, making her writhe beneath me. "Raoul!"

My mind was thrown back to the night in my study by her throaty cries, when I had done precisely the same thing to her. How had I ever mistaken her for Jacqui?

"Please," she begged me, her hands twisting in my hair, then the carpet, then my hair again. "Do what you did before! I ache!"

I quickly untied the strings of her drawers and discarded them along with her stockings. Her legs were locked tightly at the knees at first, but a few soft whispers of encouragement and an open mouth kiss to her thigh drew them apart.

"Here, Lacey?" I asked, placing my hand flat against her mound.

"Yes! Raoul, please," she whimpered, her eyes shut tightly. "I need you."

"How much of me do you need?"

Her eyes opened, as if she understood. Did she want the same thing I had given her before, or something else?

"I want everything," she said in a hot, sweet voice. "Everything, Raoul."

"I love you, Lacey," I murmured, stroking her cheek. "But I will not get you with child. Not yet."

Her eyes closed for a moment, then she stared up at me. "Does that mean someday you will?" she asked, unable to hide the hope in her tone.

"With the full permission of a doctor, then yes I will," I stated quietly.

"D-doctor?" I heard the edge of panic that had crept into her voice.

"I will be with you the entire time. Do you remember the doctor who delivered Stephan? He also delivered James and Charlotte, and took care of Rebbecca and Erik when they were hurt. I've known him forever," I said reassuringly. "He is very kind and can be trusted. You must also remember that childbirth is very invasive. I don't want to hurt you."

"I want this," she whispered, then kissed me, and slowly I left the darkened path forever to follow Lacey and her sunlit soul wherever she led me.

--

No...it is not over. I shall continue the heat in the next chapter...


	65. An Incident in the Back of a Carriage

**...because I like to tease you, just a little bit more...**

**Zachary x Rebbecca**

Zachary yanked at the cravat pilfered earlier from Erik's closet when he dressed for the ball, and he wondered why a man who never attended cursed events like this would have such a vast array of choices.

Silver that matched his eyes, though black would have suited his mood, the damn thing choked him until he'd snatched on it enough that it was hopelessly ruined. All Erik's careful and reluctant arranging a wasted effort after a few furious tugs of Zachary's enormous hand.

"Bloody English," he muttered to himself, feeling self conscious around the clench jawed snobs around him. Several of the gentlemen he recognized from his extensive fighting career and even one or two of the ladies who allowed their gaze to linger on his broad shoulders with a remembered fondness for that great hunk of flesh and an evening or two spent in his arms.

"I'm going to kill Becca," he whispered. "Or I'm going to annoy her so much that she hits me since I'm spoiling for a good row anyway."

The crowd cleared suddenly and he caught a glimpse of Rebbecca's auburn tresses piled high on her head with three tantalizing ringlets trailing down her back.

"Becca," he murmured, losing sight of her for a moment in the crush. Impatiently he pushed aside several people until he was standing on the inner fringes of the circle and she was in his sights once more.

Someone was asking her to dance, a dandy with his hand extended and a smile on his young face. Zachary watched, holding his breath as he turned his attention back to Rebbecca, and was floored at the royal set down she gave the whelp. Laughter tittered about the ballroom at the man who was spurned by an unknown Frenchwoman. Zachary studied the set of her chin, the way she held her shoulders, and how utterly regal she looked standing there in all her defiant glory.

'She's done it,' he thought to himself. 'She's finally free.'

In the next moment another older gentleman, a lord, made his way toward her and Zachary felt irritation slide through his heart. He cut around the ballroom on the inner circle, ignoring the look of surprise on everyone's face as he shoved between them and the dancers in pursuit of Rebbecca.

The clink of a champagne flute made him pause just a few feet away from her, and he nearly swore aloud when he spied Lady Wakefield with Lord Blackmore and his family in the center of the room, an announcement imminent further delaying his plans.

"As many of you know," Robert Blackmore intoned, "my son has made no secret of his popular lifestyle."

Laughter feathered throughout the room once more, and behind him Zachary could hear two ladies trying to guess the identity of the woman with the Blackmores.

"Emma Wakefield," Zachary threw back over his shoulder, earning a 'Well, I never!' for his rudeness. "And you never will," he said with a leer to the three old women who were glaring at him.

"My son has always known that duty comes before his own interests, and while he has made light the years since University, I have known for some time that it would take a woman of great strength and grace to tame his wild heart. I believe he has now found that woman in Lady Emma Wakefield."

The room was so quiet that Zachary thought he could hear the beating of Emma's heart from so far away.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lord Blackmore added, stepping up with his lady beside him. Zachary was surprised to see in place of the oddly dressed woman he'd met the week before, a stunning dark haired beauty that made him nearly smile. "I give you my love, Lady Emma, my future Countess."

There was something in the deepest recesses of Emma's spirit that reminded Zachary of Lacey, and when she smiled at the smattering of applause that broke out, Zachary felt a deep appreciation for the arrogant Lord who'd been felled by that smile.

"Zachary?"

He looked down to see his own heart and soul staring up at him with dark brown eyes that lit a smoldering fire in his body.

"Rebbecca," he breathed, noticing the sadness that was missing from her shining eyes. He pulled her up against him for a kiss, knowing that most likely the Blackmore's would not appreciate him stealing their attention, but not giving a damn.

Rebbecca too paid no mind at the collective gasp that swept through the onlookers, and kissed her husband back with all that was inside of her.

"I'm ready," she whispered, pressing her lips against his ear. "Take me home, Zachary."

"Ready for what, sweetheart?" he asked with a suggestive smile.

"I'm ready for you to make love to me," Rebbecca replied, and placed her hand in his. Zachary's whoop of joy clearly startled several of the guests who were within earshot, but they were left gaping with open mouths as he lifted Rebbecca into his arms as if she were a bag of cotton and begin striding from the room with her.

"Wait!" a gentleman called, striding after them. "I was about to ask you to dance! Where on earth are you taking her?"

Zachary turned, his eyes never leaving those of his wife, and he smiled. "I'm going to consummate my marriage. Excuse me."

Several of the younger, newer women to society clucked their tongues and mouthed that it was simply indecent. Yet some of the matrons, well past their prime and more experienced in the often boorish ways of men, claimed it was the most romantic thing they'd ever witnessed.

Esme Blackmore was among those matrons, and the look she cast her husband was one of suggestive pleasure. Before the night was out there was not a single person with French blood left in the ballroom. They were all exploring the powerful call of lust and desire that the stuffy English admired secretly and publicly disdained.

- -

"Zachary, where are we going?" Rebbecca asked her husband, who she would claim right until someone officially told her otherwise.

"I hadn't thought about it. Perhaps to Erik's? It is vacant."

"Or to a hotel?" she supplied hopefully, remembering the blood outside the steps she did not wish to encounter.

"Then we shall go to a hotel," he said quietly, studying his wife in the darkness of the carriage. "Come here, little minx. I have something I wish to give you."

"Oh?" Rebbecca whispered, scrambling across the seat to Zachary. He kissed her, making her desire stir with a sudden force that shocked her, and she knew then what she needed to do. Every time they had tried to make love in a conventional manner it frightened her. Perhaps this was what Eva meant about taking control. Perhaps their lovemaking needed to be as unconventional as their relationship.

Without hesitating Rebbecca ran her hands along her beloved's chest, then along his thickly muscled stomach, and finally to that place she'd been too afraid to touch before.

"Becca!" he nearly shouted, then groaned when her hands rubbed him slowly. "W-what are you doing? I was merely going to k-kiss you!"

"Ah, my love! But I need more than a kiss," she said playfully, pulling at his belt, then at his trouser buttons. "I need to make love to you, and I cannot wait another moment."

"Rebbecca," Zachary groaned as she straddled him on the seat and her hands locked around his neck. She kissed him with more force than she'd ever done before, making him forget that his wife had ever suffered through cruelty or pain. This was not the meek, shy girl he'd fallen in love with, but the bold angry wildcat he'd hoped she could be. Yet she was not here in anger, or desperation. She was as on fire as he was, and a quick feel up her skirts told him exactly how much she wanted to have her way with him in a carriage on a London street.

Zachary could only pray the driver had sense enough to keep going, otherwise he'd be in for a surprise.

"You are lovely," he said, his throat aching with love. "So beautiful...my little wife. You have found a taste for life, haven't you?"

"I have a taste of you," she returned, her hand around his manhood once more even as he untied the laces to her drawers and explored her more fully. Rebbecca felt his gentle touch, so light and wonderful, and knew that indeed there was a good part. She begged him then to show her, to teach her.

"Anything for you, Becca," he whispered, lifting her until she was positioned over him. It was nearly torturous, the slow way she had to descend on him. For the first time he cursed that his body had been over blessed in every regard, and he wondered how such a small woman could claim so much of him. She gasped against his neck when he lifted her with his hands and brought her back down slowly.

"Zachary! Am I...I was supposed to be in control!"

"You want control, my sweet wife?" Zachary rasped. He found her hands with his and placed his wrists in her grasp. "Have your way then. I am in your hands. Do with me whatever you want."

Rebbecca felt a spark of pleasure at his tone, and studied her husband's eyes. So full of fire, yet he was willing to do anything for her. Such a large man, in every respect, but he was hers to command.

Power.

It surged through her with a hot flame, and fueled her innocent heart with sudden madness. "You are mine, Zachary," she said in a harsh tone. "Mine, and mine alone."

"Yes," he groaned, then his eyes closed as she moved over him.

"Look at me," she demanded, not moving again until he'd satisfied her. That raw feeling overcame her again as he obeyed, and her small fingers dug into his massive wrists making her feel strong and in control. "Kiss me. Now."

"Yes, my wife," Zachary answered, seeking to please her in all ways. It was insane, the way she had suddenly become this confident, domineering figure. And it excited him in ways that he didn't understand. Submissiveness had never been his strong suit, but under her body he became a slave to her whims. Only when she demanded it did he kiss her, and only where she instructed him to. She told him when to stop, and when to start again.

She invited him to kiss her, then taunted him by pulling away until he was mad with desire and knew he must find release.

The closer she came to her own though, the less control she had. Zachary seized the advantage the moment he knew that her body was burning for his and turned her the opposite way until she was sitting on him once more and he could pleasure her with his hand while he continued to drive himself upwards and inside of her.

"Zachary!" she gasped, leaning back and twisting around for a kiss. "Oh...I'm...I'm..."

"Let it go, my sweet," he urged, cupping her breast while he toyed with her aching body. "Let it go."

Rebbecca felt that explosion Lacey had told her of, and it sent her flying beyond the stars. She felt her husband beneath her, gripping her hips as he pulled her down harder, and the sensation of his seed pouring into her receptive body. She crashed louder than the waves, feeling a freedom and beauty that she had never believed existed.

"Zachary," Rebbecca sobbed, her heart aching with love and soul burning with joy. "I love you. How I love you!"

"I love you," he panted, holding her tightly against him until his breathing slowed and he finally helped her straighten her clothes.

"Where are we?" she whispered after he had tucked her against his side and pressed delicate kisses along her jaw. She raised up slightly to peer out at dark London. "This doesn't look familiar to me."

Zachary tucked his shirt back into his pants then glanced out the curtain. "Smart fellow. He's been driving in Hyde Park," he murmured, giving two thumps on the top of the roof. "To a hotel, my good man!"

"At once, Sir!" the carriage driver chortled from above, then began to whistle.

The French were always such interesting fare.

- -

To my muse...you know who you are...


	66. The Fairytale

**Lacey**

"This is my claim," he whispered, finding my hand and lacing our fingers. "You are my claim for winning the horse race in the park."

"Oh," I breathed, startled into silence by the intensity of his eyes.

"Although," Raoul offered a roguish smile, "you have said that your claim would be more tempting. Perhaps I shall admit that maybe I did cheat and allowed my horse to goad yours into distraction."

"C-cheat? No," I said solemnly. "You didn't cheat."

His laughter made me smile, and I shivered as he unexpectedly lowered his mouth to my stomach, nuzzling the smooth skin just below my breast. One hand traveled up my body, against my sternum, then slid around my neck and pulled me up for a kiss.

"What was your claim, Lacey?"

"It was this," I murmured against his mouth. "But I never dreamed to wrangle a proposal from you so soon."

"Never settle for less than what you deserve, my love."

He kissed me deeper, and deeper still, his hands skimming the surface of my body with light caresses that made me burn for more of his touch, with his mouth, with his skin against mine. I wanted all of him. It was almost frightening how much I had already surrendered, and how much more I was still willing to let go of to be with this man.

Bringing my hand up to his lips with his laced in mine, I caught the gleam of a gemstone in the blue light from the windows, sparkling and slightly heavy on my finger. The sight of it spurred my desire more, and I began to cling to him and kiss him back with as much fervor as I had always wanted. I took from him every breath, needing to know him in the most basic of ways. Pleasure curled inside my body as I strained to meet his caresses and give back to him my own.

The sound of our breathing in the room surely could have been heard in Paris, but Raoul silenced me with his mouth and not words. He offered salvation with another kiss that absorbed each moan and gasp and plea.

"I need your touch," I whispered in the darkness. Feeling bold and daring, I moved his hand down, and down further until he released me and guided himself to where I had wordlessly asked. Raoul's eyes met mine and held even as he stroked me, and I arched from the wonderful ecstasy that shuddered through my body.

"Like this?" he murmured, his gaze darkening with pride and desire. The knowledge of what Raoul was doing, where he was touching me was too much! He was gentle, yet in his eyes I could see the edges of his sanity giving way, and I thought for certain that when my hand slid along the taut line of his stomach and lower to his trouser buttons, he would cease all that he was doing to push my hand away, but he didn't.

Raoul needed my touch as much as I needed his, and I felt my heart squeeze when he closed his eyes and groaned loudly at my first hesitant explorations.

"You're...it's...hot," I whispered.

"Yes," he agreed thickly, his features tight with passion. "For you, Lacey. I have been this way for the better part of two months. Every time I think of you. Every time you meet my eyes, and when you push my patience to the limits. You have to know you could have had your way with me long before this. I am not a strong man."

"Not strong?" I teased, gripping him more firmly and testing the length of him.

His hand stopped moving inside of me as he fought for breath and panted against my chest. It was several moments before he realized that my breast was near his mouth and he began to lavish his devotion once more, making my hand still this time as I climbed that elusive ladder again. Then his hand moved higher, finding some spot I had been yearning for him to discover, and I went limp against the floor.

"You are ready in all ways, Lacey," he said in a throaty tone tone. His eyes bore into mine as he braced his hands on either side of my head and pressed a light kiss across my lips. "Are you ready in your heart?"

"Yes," I whispered, sitting up to push the shirt from his shoulders and watching as he quickly discarded his boots and trousers.

"Do you want to go to the bed?" he asked gently.

I shook my head shyly and reached for his hand, "No, the rug is thick and soft, and besides, it's more fun down here."

His wry smile was brief as he lowered me to the floor once more with gentle kisses against my neck, then down to my breasts. My hands tangled in his hair, my heart beating wildly inside under the onslaught of his caresses until he'd lifted my knees and slid his hands beneath my bottom to bring us together.

I loved it that he did not question me further, and simply accepted that I was ready. It was as if he knew my heart, and finally understood that I was not going to let go of this chance to become one with him. At the feel of him slowly sinking into me, I felt no fear, only pure pleasure. This was Raoul, who I loved with my entire heart. I had waited for this moment, and dreamed of finding the courage to do this if I had the chance, and now that I had it I knew nothing would ever be the same.

"I love you," I gasped when he pulled out and thrust inside. He found my hand and laced our fingers, and I rested my other over his heart. It felt better to lift my legs, and he moaned as I locked them around his hips. In a rhythm I didn't quite understand, yet was instinctively natural, I began to meet his slow movements with my body. We danced in another way, one that was far more intimate and far more pleasurable than I had expected.

"As I love you, Lacey."

I had not considered seeing such need and passion on his face, nor the heaviness of his eyes, nor the way they squeezed shut when something felt particularly right. He gripped my hand harder and kissed me, resting his forehead against mine as he suddenly quickened his pace and I felt my own desire racing to match his own.

"Raoul," I breathed, feeling a weight begin to spread inside my stomach, and continuing lower. "I'm so close."

"So am I," he said roughly, his shoulders shaking as he gave a slow, controlled thrust. "But you must go first...you must."

So he could prevent conception, I realized. I nodded and closed my eyes as he began to kiss my neck, licking slowly as he joined us together again and again. The pressure built once more until I opened my eyes to find Raoul's gaze fixated on me, watching with desire and love on his handsome face as I neared that beautiful edge.

"You are the very heart of me," Raoul whispered, lowering his lips to mine once more. I felt tears stab at my eyes even as an overwhelming surge built higher. My legs gripped him tighter and I cried out in wonder at the soul shattering climax that ripped me apart.

Raoul groaned loudly and continued to thrust, seeming to become harder until he could bear it no more. He pulled away at the last moment and pressed into my stomach, the free flow of his release a warm, unfamiliar stickiness that should have disgusted me but didn't. I kissed him lazily, grinning at him when he looked around for his shirt, embarrassed by his mess.

"That was spectacular," I said, giving a long, happy sound of bliss. "I cannot believe you waited so long to do that with me!"

"Neither can I," he said, grinning contentedly. "And it remains to be seen if I can wait but a moment to have you again."

"Vicomte," I said coyly, covering my breasts with my hands, "and I thought Lord Blackmore was the insatiable one in this house!"

"No," Raoul insinuated with a pinch to my hip, "I think the insatiable person in this house is you, Lacey Chartraine. Although I have a suspicion that once we are truly married, you might find that your husband wishes to make up for many lost years of insatiable activity."

"How many years?" I asked, giving him a bold smile.

"A lifetime," he murmured, tracing a hand up my leg then leaning over me for a long and welcomed kiss. "We have a lifetime to make up for what we have both missed."

I didn't protest as he carried me to the bed, covering us both and pulling our bodies so close that we really had no need for blankets. I slept beside him, skin to skin, feeling that every part of my heart was now complete and knowing that his heart was the same. Raoul was my love, my dream, and my prince, and I knew in my heart that the rest of my fairytale was about to come true.

- -

I shall do an epi. Sorry it took so long. I forgot I had this waiting to be uploaded!


	67. A New Theater

**I hope you have enjoyed this story. Please check out my other stories!**

**- - **

**Paris 1891**

**12 years later**

"Dammit, Erik, she's twenty one! It's past time for Charlotte to be introduced to society!"

"She's not an aristocrat!" Erik snapped back.

Raoul narrowed his eyes at his former enemy. "You forget that Christine was a Vicomtess. The girl ought to be married by now," he insisted.

"To whom? One of society's fops?" Erik demanded, pacing the length of the library. Erik couldn't seem to make Raoul understand that his daughter was meant for greatness, not domesticity. It would not suit her. She was going to be a star, if only Erik could force himself to release her so that she could shine. At her age she should already have a slew of admirers begging for an audience with the esteemed diva. "No. I prefer my daughter to be married to a man of substance or not at all. She should be on stage doing what she loves - singing."

Raoul wondered if Erik realized he had just insulted him, but knew he probably didn't care. Such barbs weren't uncommon, and he'd often thought the same thing about many of his peers. But what Erik had said wasn't actually true. While Charlotte loved music, and her voice was every bit as good as Christine's, she was more interested in playing and composing than singing.

Raoul opened his mouth to argue once more, but the sound of a woman clearing her throat brought his head around to the very young woman that they had been arguing about.

"Actually, I have my own plans," Charlotte said quietly.

Both men regarded the girl with surprised expressions, having thought their heated discussion had been private.

"Lotte...," Erik began, only to have her throw her hands up to silence him.

"Papa," she returned, crossing the room so that she could give him a kiss. "I have been thinking..."

Raoul and Erik glanced at one another with equally wary faces.

"You have?" Erik asked, only a bit of mocking in his tone.

"I don't want to be a singer," she said, breaking it to him as gently yet firmly as possible.

"You don't?" Raoul asked, prepared to offer a victorious smile.

"And I don't want a stuffy old ball," she added, experiencing a start of guilt when his face fell. She hated pitting the two of them against one another, though they were always at odds over her fate anyway. But really, it was now time for her to take control of her own life and stop letting them make decisions for her. "I'm sorry, but I don't want either of those things."

Erik studied his beautiful daughter, so strong of will and certain of everything that was good in the world. He could only imagine what her young mind was capable of, and yet he feared what she wanted almost as much as he needed to make her happy.

"What _do_ you want, Charlotte?"

"I want a loan," she answered, a determined gleam in her brown eyes. "From each of you, split right down the middle."

"A what?" Raoul uttered, his mouth falling open.

"A loan. Think of it as an investment."

Erik contemplated this new development for several moments, his best fatherly expression of stern contemplation on his face before he asked, "A loan for what purpose?"

"That I will not tell you," she said firmly.

"And what will you use to secure this loan?" Erik asked, beguiled as usual by her mysterious smile.

"Erik! You cannot be serious!" Raoul exclaimed.

"She is," Erik shrugged, then waited for his daughter's response.

"The house in Nice," she said calmly.

Both of them fell silent, and impulsively Charlotte kissed her father's cheek again, then went to Raoul and did the same.

"I love both of you. The house is mine to do with as I please. But it is in Nice, and right now it is useless to me... "

"Useless? Your mother loved that house!" Raoul said, though he had never really wanted anything to do with it since Christine's death. The memories did not haunt him so much now that he had Lacey, James, and Graham, but he had meant that house as a legacy to Charlotte, because Christine had left little else other than her infamy.

"I did not say that it held no sentiment for me," Charlotte replied patiently. "Merely that it is useless. I have no wish to leave Paris..."

Both of her fathers relaxed visibly at the announcement.

"...and I do not wish to lose it through another investor should my plans fail."

"Your plans, whatever they may be, could fail anyway," Erik reminded her. "What then?"

"They won't," Charlotte said confidently. "But if they do then I shall have to turn to my investment and hope to make enough profit from a sale to recover any losses. Provided you do not charge me a great deal of interest on the loan, that shouldn't be difficult."

"Where did you learn all of this?" Raoul asked, clearly astonished. "Investments and loans? Interest and profits, Lotte? I was always certain your mind was meant only for music and trouble making."

Erik smiled softly at his daughter, so determined and eager for whatever it was that she wanted.

"Will you at least tell us why you want this so badly?"

Lotte smiled, knowing her response would please at least one of them. "I have no intentions of getting married immediately, and absolutely no wish to be dependent on any man. This secures my future, since your wealth must be divided up through so many of my siblings," she said directly to Erik, then turned to Raoul, "and yours is meant for your true children, James and Graham."

"What about me?" Erik asked, his mind unable to move past her phrase about not needing any man. "Will you still need me?"

Charlotte hugged her father tightly, breathing in the comforting scent of his cologne and a lingering hint of Eva's perfume. "You know that I shall always need you, Papa," she whispered, then looked at Raoul. "I shall always need both of you."

- -

"Did they take the bait?" Amber asked, pouncing on Charlotte immediately once she was out the front door.

"Yes!" Charlotte exclaimed, and jumped in the air with an unladylike whoop. "They're going to give me the money!"

"And the house?"

"Collateral," she crowed, unable to stop smiling. Her father had caved immediately, and not to be outdone, Raoul had soon followed with a promise that she would have her money whenever she needed it. "But I expect to earn a profit from this, so the house will be mine again one day. Besides," she shrugged, "when they die it reverts back to me anyway."

"Charlotte!" Amber burst out, though she honestly wasn't surprised by what her sister had said. "That isn't a very loving thing to say!"

"Oh, they know that I love them. They will just find out soon that I am a determined young woman."

Amber followed Charlotte out to the shade tree near the rose garden and sat down on the grass beside her. Years of unnatural patience and wisdom prompted Amber's concern when she asked, "Do you really think you can do it? Buy an opera house and manage it on your own?"

Charlotte scoffed. "Of course I can. My father ran one for years, and Papa Raoul was a patron. I shall be open to their suggestions of course, but I will remain in charge."

Charlotte closed her eyes, imagining the sounds and smells of the stage. "Papa and I will provide the original music for new productions, and of course any composers who are worthy to grace our stage, known or unknown. This theater will truly be ours to do with as we please. I know he's going to love it as much as I will."

Amber wasn't so sure. She knew Erik just as well as her sister did, and he was not a man open to having his life managed, unless it was by their mother.

"I wish you the best of luck then," she said softly, jostling her three month old daughter Katrina in her arms. "Perhaps by the time my husband and father have returned from England you will have it up and running. Papa thinks Gregory could be as great of a fighter as he was."

"So long as you do not miss opening night," Charlotte replied, only half joking. Out of all the siblings that she had, Amber had always been closest to her. She could not imagine Amber not being there to witness her triumph.

"If my husband can drag me to his boxing matches with my father and Rebbecca, then I think he can suffer though one night of opera," Amber said dryly. "As shall I."

"Suffer!" Charlotte laughed. "You wound me, oh toneless one! You wouldn't know good music if it bit your bottom!"

"True," Amber grinned. "Then you will have no complaints from me if everyone else says that your opera stinks."

- -

Three weeks later Charlotte – or on the deed to the opera, Charles – ordered her two fathers and mothers into a carriage under instructions as mysterious as her behavior had been during the preceding weeks. She smiled secretively as they approached the theater, sharing those smiles with Eva and Lacey, who already knew what to expect. If she had not received their approval for her plan she still would have proceeded, but would not have asked her father and Raoul to become so heavily involved.

"I suppose this has something to do with your investment," Erik said cautiously.

"Of course," she replied, sweetly.

Erik felt his wife squeeze his hand, and gave her a slightly nervous smile. Only Charlotte, Amber and Stephen were old enough to terrify him this much. His other four children were still young enough that they listened to him (most of the time) and he had a few more years before he had to worry about them coming of age and causing more of his hair to turn gray. With seven Chartrains to clothe, feed, entertain, and love, he seldom had time for music anymore without one of them coming in to pester him with questions or tattling on the others.

Stephen had decided at age eleven that he was old enough to make his own decisions, and had asked his father for permission to join James de Chagny at the elite Academy of Fine Arts. James was studying music, oddly enough, and Stephan was enrolled in architectural studies at the school. Both of them remained friends, despite the slight difference in age and the bitter rivalry that had once been part of their fathers' lives.

Erik leaned forward slightly and lifted the shade to the carriage, catching the gleaming lines of a building in the early morning light before his daughter smacked his hand.

"Papa! No peeking!"

"What is this?" he asked, leaning forward again to lift the shade. "We're...going to an opera?"

Raoul studied Charlotte's flushed face, then he too peeked out. "Beside the fact that we are not dressed for an opera, Erik, it would be uncharacteristic for one to be shown at nine in the morning. It would seem that Lotte has-"

"No-" Erik breathed.

"Sur-prise!" she said, the word beginning as a shout, then trailing off lamely to a squeak. Before they could open their mouths, Charlotte began explaining. "I bought an opera house. I know what you're going to say-"

"How could you possibly know what I'm going to say?" Erik asked, pushing the door of the carriage open as it rolled to a halt. "An opera company, Lotte? Why?"

"I'm going to manage it," she said, forcing the happiness and pride back into her tone. "And I want you to help me."

Erik swung around on her as she climbed out of the carriage, then looked to the other three faces peering out at him. "Me? But..."

"You know that you were meant for this, Papa," she said softly, gesturing back to the building. "I know it isn't Opera Populaire, but it is still beautiful and will be full of life again. It needs some work, but I know that we can do it. All of us, together. And it will have music. Our music."

"Music," Erik whispered, feeling a shiver run across his heart. He was fifty two, and he had only witnessed one of his operas performed on stage. There were innumerable others out there that he had sold, but like little pieces of his soul he had given them away for next to nothing, merely curious to see if someone would purchase them. And they had: America, England, Russia. But none here. None except for _Don Juan_, and it had left such a black mark upon his soul that it had taken the diligent efforts of his wife to wipe it away.

"I will handle any and all problems that arise in management. And we will work together behind the scenes to make decisions," she promised, though there might have been just a little lie in that. This would be hers, and no doubt they would butt heads over some of the productions, but she knew the right way to twist her father's arm - with love.

"It sounds as if Lotte knows what she wants, Erik," Raoul said from within the carriage. Lacey was smiling brightly, hugged against his side as she whispered words of encouragement to her husband. "Is it something you might want as well?" Raoul questioned Erik.

Yes. The answer resounded in Erik's heart so fast that it stunned him. He had not even looked at the inside of this small yet elegant theater, but he knew true desire when he felt it. Erik felt Charlotte slip her arms around his waist and stare up at him with her soulful eyes. He looked down at her wide smile and pointed chin, and realized that she truly was not a girl anymore. She was a woman, and yet she was making a way for her old, graying father to stay in her life for years to come.

"I am proud of you, Charlotte," he whispered, blessing her with a kiss on her forehead. "As I know that your mother is." He turned to the smiling redhead in the carriage and extended his hand. "Eva, what do you think of this?"

Eva breathed a sigh of relief at the acquiescence in Erik's eyes and felt joy at the hope in Charlotte's. "I think that this shall be exactly what you need," she replied, already imagining this as a family theater. Stephen could help his father with reconstruction. James might wish to play his music here. Amber would not have interest in it, certainly, nor Zachary and Rebbecca, but there was always hope that Katrina might love music as much as her grandmother. As for the other four children at home, as well as Raoul and Lacey's five year old Graham – their musical talents and preferences had yet to be determined, but Erik had every hope of teaching them music.

Raoul and Lacey looked on as Erik, Eva and Charlotte embraced and turned towards the structure with the strength and surety of family.

"Do you think we should tell them?" Lacey whispered, feeling her husband slip an arm around her waist and caress her still small stomach.

"I think they can wait a few more days," he murmured, kissing her neck softly. "You're sure the doctor said that you aren't..."

"Too old?" she drawled. "Thirty seven is not too old for a woman to have a child. If you can sire one at your age-"

Raoul shushed her with one finger to her lips. "I was not referring to your health my dear, but to your stamina. We are both going to be chasing around another child for the next twenty or so years with as much madness as we have done with the others."

Lacey stared into his eyes, knowing pure joy at the man who loved her more and more every day. "I'm not going to be doing anything else...so..."

He chuckled and kissed her, finally lifting his head when he realized that their companions were opening the door to the theater and going inside, presumably to inspect it.

"What are you doing right now?" he asked, waggling his brows.

"Inspecting a theater," Lacey informed him archly.

"Not right now you aren't," Raoul replied, then stuck his head out the open door of the carriage and ordered the driver to take them to the Chagny residence. He turned back to his glowing wife, who had taken the hint and was moving stealthily across the seat to his. "Graham is at Erik's. James is at school. We'll have the house to ourselves."

"Who will take Erik home?" she murmured.

"Now that the old Phantom has a new theater," Raoul replied, "I doubt he'll be returning any time soon."

- -

Rappleyea added the very last line to this story, which I found particularly fitting. I want to thank both of my betas (ForeverPhantoms & Rappleyea) for all of their help. Dare I say the story would have been finished sooner...but would not have been nearly as good! Please check out Mirela x Lily's story, which I will begin to update regularly. My profile gets frequent updates as well.


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